Game of Shadows
by moosesquirrelkittenandking
Summary: S10 AU: Crowley has unintentionally created a monster, and the entire world might pay the price. Can Sam and Cas save Dean before it's too late? Eventual Crowley/OFC.
1. Quid Ego Video

_**Game of Shadows**_

**Chapter 1: Quid Ego Video**

_"When your eyes can adjust and you see what's in view  
>Discolored and distempered smiles that see you<br>Do you realize we were all once like you?"_

* * *

><p>"Listen to me, Dean Winchester... what you're feeling right now is not death, it's <em>life<em>. A new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see, feel what I feel... let's go take a howl at that moon."

**wake up, little hunter**

Dean's eyes split open, and the world splayed out around him. He felt like he was seeing for the first time. It was almost beautiful. All the little details he never would've noticed before came to life... the intricate wood grain of his night stand, every fiber of his bed sheets, he saw _everything_. He turned his eyes to the demon leaning over his bed. At first, he saw the face of Crowley's vessel, looking down at him almost fondly. His temples throbbed, and he blinked, and then he saw Crowley's true face.

It was indescribable. Red eyes and black skin and teeth and blood and _power_. He didn't know how he could've looked at him for all of these years without seeing it. Without seeing what he truly was. His vessel was humble, but his true form was that of a king. He blinked again, and the face he was used to returned. Crowley smiled softly at him, which surprised him.

He sat up slowly. His body did not hurt, though he was still caked in blood and there were open wounds on his torso. He felt oddly detached from his own skin. He glanced down at the crook of his forearm, and the Mark glowed with vibrant orange and red energy.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," was the first thing he said, his voice hoarse from disuse. Warmth radiated up his arm from the First Blade, which felt comfortable and right in his hand. He felt calm. He felt at peace. He felt _good_.

"I know," Crowley said gently.

"I don't know what's happening to me," he admitted, lifting his arm and examining it. Energy radiated out from the Blade, rejuvenating him. "I... Metatron killed me." He looked down at his chest, and there was a gaping wound there. His shirt was soaked with blood. "I'm not dead."

"You're like me now, Dean. But I think you already knew that."

He'd heard Crowley's words from a distant place when he'd been under... they'd dragged him back. Called to him from the shadowy veil he'd been trapped in. And now he was here, and he was alive... and...

**you're perfect, now**

"I'm a demon," he said, and he should've been horrified. Disgusted. He should've taken the Blade in his hand and stabbed it into his stomach. He couldn't be one of the things he'd hunted for all of these years. But he didn't feel like that. He didn't feel much at all, actually, aside from the ever-present calm that the Blade provided him.

"You are," Crowley agreed. His smile fell, but the King still looked pleased. He glanced towards the door. "Your brother will be back any minute, once he finds that he can't summon me," he said. "We need to go."

Yes. They did. His thoughts were wild and unbidden, the world around him seeing almost surreal, but one thing he knew with certainty was that they had to leave. He needed to get himself in order and get his questions answered before he saw his brother.

Not to mention... would Sam show mercy for him, if it came down to it?

He was a demon. A demon with the Mark of Cain and the most powerful weapon in the world held tight in his hand. He wasn't positive that his brother would be able to rationalize himself out of killing him.

"Where are we going?" Dean asked, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. He kept his firm grip on the First Blade.

"Someplace safe," Crowley answered cryptically, stepping away from the bed. Dean rose to his feet. He was steady. Crowley reached forward, laid his hand on his shoulder, and in a split second, the two of them were gone.

* * *

><p>"Damn it," Sam cursed under his breath. He'd been sitting here waiting for over ten minutes, retried the summoning three more times, and still nothing. No answer from Crowley. The bastard was the one who started this whole disaster; he was the one who dragged Dean into accepting the Mark and the taint it left on his soul. He should have to face the consequences of the mess he'd created.<p>

Sam's last fraying strand of composure snapped, and he kicked the bowl of herbs to the other side of the dungeon, and it cracked against the wall and shattered into dozens of pieces on the ground. Fuming, he laid his fist into the concrete wall, not caring that his skin split under the force of his punch.

He leaned his head against the wall, choking back a sob that bubbled out of his throat. Tears burned in his eyes, and he struggled to keep them from falling. He couldn't break into pieces, not now. He had to find a way to bring Dean back. Heaven was still locked, okay, but there had to be a way to get to his brother's soul and put it back where it belonged, there had to be some way to heal his body.

With no way of knowing where Cas and Gadreel were, or if they were even alive, or if they'd actually managed to retake Heaven, the demon king was still his only option. Once he convinced said demon to bring Dean back, he was going to end Crowley permanently. He didn't know how, didn't care how. They'd been foolish enough to let Crowley live last time, and look where it had gotten them.

He was alone and his brother was dead, and if they'd just slit Crowley's throat a year ago after the angels fell, he wouldn't be here right now. He tugged his phone out of his pocket and quickly called the demon. Predictably, after three rings, he got Crowley's voicemail.

"Too busy inflicting pain to answer. Leave a message."

"You listen to me, you son of a bitch. My brother is dead because of you, and if you don't get your ass here and fix him I am going to make it my sole mission in life to hunt you down and erase your existence from the face of the Earth, do you understand me? This is your mess, and if you don't clean it up, you _will _pay for it." Sam hung up the phone and stared at it for a few moments.

He flung it against the wall. Its remains joined the tipped over bowl on the gray floor of the dungeon.

* * *

><p>"Hey. Hey buddy, are you okay?"<p>

Gadreel felt someone shaking his shoulder. He groaned deep in his throat as he slowly came back to himself. There was grass pressing against his face, and he smelled earth and water. He was lying on the ground, flat on his stomach. With effort, he pushed himself up. Sunlight blinded him, and he flinched away from it. There was a young man standing over him - a human, he sensed immediately.

His head swam, trying to put together how he got here. "You alright?" the human asked. Gadreel nodded stiffly, putting a hand to his temple.

"Yes. Yes, I am fine." He was quite sure that wasn't entirely true, but he wanted to rid himself of the human's presence so he could think. "Feel free to be on your way."

After a moment of hesitation, the man left, continuing down a dirt path and into what appeared to be a park of some variety. Gadreel looked behind him. A burbling creek flowed over damp, moss covered rocks. He had no idea where he was. Or why he was here, for that matter-

_"Move to the other side of your cell, Castiel, and keep your head down. When they say my name, perhaps I won't just be the one who let the Serpent in, perhaps I will be known as one of the many that gave Heaven a second chance." He lifted the angel blade to his chest and locked eyes with Hannah. "Run, sister."_

Gadreel gasped involuntarily, his hand flying to the center of his chest. He was wearing his vessel's typical clothing. He tugged down the collar, trying to find some sign of the Grace-focusing sigil he'd carved into himself in Heaven's prison, but there was nothing but smooth flesh there. How was that possible? He'd sacrificed himself so that Castiel could escape and find the angel tablet. How was it that he was still alive? He remembered the feeling of his concentrated Grace blowing him apart, of his angel blade sliding through muscle and sinew and piercing him through the heart.

And yet, he was alive

Not possible.

He looked to the sky. There was only one explanation that he could currently think of, but it was one that was so naively hopeful that he didn't even want to entertain it, for fear of being disappointed.

"Father...?" he couldn't help but whisper.

It wasn't possible. God had left them all when Gadreel allowed the Serpent into the Garden. When he allowed his Father's most prized Creation to be tainted by sin.

But how else could he suddenly live again?

Questions for later. He needed to find out where he was, and then find Castiel immediately. He could only hope that his brother had managed to cut off Metatron from the power of the angel tablet, and that the Winchesters were successful in eliminating him. If not, then he feared all was lost. He stretched his limbs, which felt sore and stiff, and set off down the path, silently thanking whatever force that had brought him back. He was not done redeeming himself. Perhaps he would never be done. He would work for all eternity to repair his home, if that's what it took.

* * *

><p>Castiel sat in front of Metatron's typewriter, narrowing his eyes at the keys. "This controls the Gates?"<p>

"That's what Metatron's assistant told us," Hannah said. "I am unsure of how he operated it... perhaps the power of it was tied to the angel tablet?"

"No, I don't think so." Cas pursed his lips. "Otherwise the Gates would've reopened the moment I destroyed the tablet."

"Do we truly need to open them again? All of us have been made aware of where the portal is," Hannah said.

"You forget the souls of the humans who have died since the fall," he reminded her. "All of them are trapped in the veil, lost, unable to move onto Heaven. We have to free them." _I have to free Dean. _Cas settled his fingers on the keys. "There has to be something... Metatron's assistant, Neil, did he say anything else?"

"No. It doesn't appear that Metatron kept him very well informed."

Cas sighed, but then an idea occurred to him. "Perhaps if I destroy it, it will undo all that he's done?"

"It's worth a try."

Castiel drew his angel blade and positioned it so its point hovered just above the keys of the typewriter. _As Dean would say, here goes nothing._ He drove it downwards, shattering the typewriter into pieces. Blue and white flashed, almost blinding him. He was thrown backwards into the wall as the typewriter let out a blast of energy.

And then something amazing happened.

_He felt them._

"My wings," he gasped as he scrambled to stand. "Hannah, can you-" He still couldn't see, the light blocked out everything, but he could hear his sister let out an exclamation of amazement from nearby.

"Yes. Yes, I can!"

He allowed his wings to unfurl on either side of him as the light faded, as if they'd been there the whole time. He saw Hannah do the same with her own pearly white wings. She grinned at him, practically radiating with happiness. He could hear the other angels calling out on the angel radio in joy.

But then her smile fell, and her expression turned into one of confusion. "Your wings..."

"What is it?" He turned his head to the left and right, taking in the appearance of his wings. However, after looking at them... he felt a knot form in his stomach when he realized that the wings framing his figure were not the ones he'd had before the Fall. The ones he'd had since he was created were enormous, with thick feathers colored blue-black like the midnight sky.

They were smaller, now, and tawny brown. He curled them in on himself on instinct as his feeling of unease grew, but they did not make him feel safe like the shield of his old wings had. At closer inspection, they appeared to be molting, almost. Many places were missing feathers, and the ones that remained appeared lifeless.

It made sense, he supposed. An angel's wings were a representation of his Grace. He had stolen, poisoned Grace, so his wings were not his, but Theo's... and they were marked by what he had done to the other angel.

He gulped. "It seems they've changed," he said quietly, reluctant to say more on the subject. He was almost embarrassed. Vain as it was, he thought that his wings had truly been a thing of beauty before the Fall. But now...

Hannah seemed to be somewhere between horrified and uncomfortable. After a long moment of silence, the female angel spoke again.

"Did you... is it over? Are the Gates open as well?" Hannah asked, glancing around as she rose to her feet.

"I believe so." He put a hand on the surface of the desk. He felt the shaking of Paradise around him. "Millions of souls, all coming in. They'll need to be guided." He flicked his eyes to Hannah. "The Reapers, can you rally them to help? The ones that are left?"

Somehow, Hannah had seamlessly slipped into the role of his second-in-command again, in spite of how quickly she'd lost faith in him just a few days prior. It was a shame that it took Gadreel's life to renew her confidence in him.

Gadreel. His brother who would've rather died than gone back to the prison he was trapped in for thousands of years. Trapped in and tortured in, broken apart and put back together.

He would mourn later. Right now, he had a priority. And that was a particular soul that he knew was currently struggling its way toward the Paradise it had so long deserved.

"Yes. I'll contact them on the angel radio," she said, setting her fingertips on the top of the radio that Cas had used to reveal Metatron's true intentions to the Heavenly Host.

Cas nodded stiffly. "Good. Thank you. I must go."

"Go? But commander-"

"Hannah, please," he said, almost desperately. "Never call me that again. I'm not your commander. I'm not your leader. I'm..." He pursed his lips. "I'm just Castiel, and right now, my friend needs me."

"Dean Winchester, again?" Hannah asked, a hint of bitterness in her voice. Cas didn't respond. "It always is, isn't it?"

"You don't understand," he said. "I owe him everything. I will never be done repaying him for what he's done for me. Thanks to Metatron, he's dead... I have to do what I can for him."

Hannah's expression softened somewhat, and then she asked, "Was he right, Castiel?"

"What do you mean?" He furrowed his brow.

"Did you do all of this for him? To protect him?"

"Nothing is ever that simple, sister." _But isn't it, though? Hasn't it always been about protecting him since the very start? _"I... I'll return when I can. I want to help rebuild things. I want to fix our home."

"Then why not stay?"

"Because..." He licked his lips, unsure of the proper words to say. "Because my family needs me."

With a flutter of his wings (and oh, did it feel good to fly again, even with his stolen wings), Cas disappeared. He allowed himself to meld with the torrent of souls pouring into Heaven. He searched for the mark of his Grace - his old Grace, the healthy and vibrant and _beautiful_ Grace, not the sad, poisoned excuse that he had now. He knew Dean's soul better than anything, and he knew that he would recognize it instantly.

He searched. And searched. And searched.

Nothing.

This wasn't making any sense. Dean couldn't have gone to Hell, could he? He was the Righteous Man. The Heavenly Vessel. He was... damn it, he was _Dean Winchester!_ Few humans had sacrificed more for the good of the world than he had. If anyone deserved Heaven, it was him.

However, if there was one thing that he'd learned during his time on Earth and his time as a human, it was that people rarely got what they deserved. And Dean had been disturbingly close to Crowley of late. The demon had smuggled Bobby's soul down to Hell instead of allowing it to move onto Heaven. Who's to say that he wouldn't do the same thing to Dean? Castiel felt rage boiling inside of him.

If he couldn't find a way to bring Dean back, he would at the very least find a way to get him the paradise that he'd fought his entire life to earn.

He would have to go to harrow Hell again. And no one would stop him from retrieving Dean's soul - not even the King himself.

It took a strong burst of Grace to get himself from Heaven and into Hell, and when he arrived in Perdition, he felt drained. He'd flown to the endless queue that Crowley had set up after he took over Hades. The fallen human souls in line shuffled aimlessly onward, striving for the end only to be put back where they started. For all he hated Crowley, he could at the very least admire how he redid Hell. The last time he'd gone to Hell for Dean's soul, it had been blood and razors and death, screaming and crying and misery.

Yes, it was a marked improvement.

He began pacing up the line, looking for Dean. He would be toward the back of the line, as he'd only died recently. He walked for an indeterminable amount of time, scanning each forlorn face. None of them noticed him. He wasn't sure how aware they were, but he called for Dean anyway, hoping to get some kind of response farther up the line.

No such luck. Strauss's "The Blue Danube" reverberated though the halls, footsteps echoed, but no one returned his call. He stretched out his awareness as far as he could, searching for Dean, for the bright aura of his soul.

Nothing.

Maybe Crowley had him hidden away? Cas felt anger pulsing in his veins. He would go to Crowley, then. He would find the demon, reach a hand into his chest, and squeeze his twisted red-black essence until he told him where Dean's soul was. And then he would make him pay.

A flutter of his new wings, and he was gone.

* * *

><p>Not long after the Angel of Thursday left, a joyous voice rang out In Hell, reaching the ears of all of the damned: <em>"Dean Winchester is saved."<em>

* * *

><p><em>AN: So, this is basically my version of what I want to happen in season ten. Not what I expect, just what I want. There will be Crowley/OFC stuff in the future, and because I'm me, probably really heavy homoerotic subtext of the Dean/Crowley and Dean/Cas variety, but the only established pairing is Crowley/Ronnie, who we'll meet in a few chapters._

_Big shout-out and tearful thank you to my beta and general source of sanity, Nunquam Iterum, for all of her help with this story!_


	2. And This is What You're Gonna Become

**Chapter 2: And This is What You're Gonna Become**

_"I'm already born, I'm already wise  
>I'm already worn, I'm already wondering, what am I?<br>I'm already rough, I'm already lean  
>I'm already wanting to be obscene."<em>

* * *

><p>Dean looked better, better now that he was in fresh clothes that were clean of blood. His wounds had already healed themselves. Crowley had managed to get him into the shower. He was surprisingly malleable now, actually. Quiet and cooperative, so long as he didn't try to take the Blade from him. He was dressed in a white button down and neatly pressed black slacks, tapping his finger on the arm rest of Crowley's favorite leather sofa.<p>

His own little killing machine, acting perfectly docile... albeit a bit confused.

He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say, but as he watched this new creature he'd helped bring into creation - unintentionally - he couldn't really form the words. _How does it feel, Dean? _he wanted to ask. _Do you feel it, the darkness? Is it swallowing you, eating you up? Are you hungry for blood? Do you need it on your hands like I need it in my veins?_

The fact was, Crowley didn't know what he was dealing with. He didn't know what Dean was, now. He was thrilled, if he was being honest with himself. Thrilled that Dean wasn't dead, that he was a demon... but not just any demon. A different breed, a _superior_ breed. No Hell torture for Dean Winchester, oh no, not this time. It was the power and draw of the Mark of Cain that had twisted his soul.

He'd tried with Dean, for the past year. Really tried for... for _friendship_. Although he was loathe to admit it to himself, the past year had opened his eyes to many things, the biggest of which being the fact that he was alone. Kingdom or not, he had no one. His demonic subjects didn't make good company, and he'd only just recently regained that particular aspect of his life. No friends, no family... no love.

_Love_. The bane of his existence since his almost-curing. That drive, that desire, it had made him weak. He wasn't afraid to acknowledge that. He wasn't the king he used to be, because he wasn't the demon he used to be. Not even a full demon, really. Or at least that's how it was beginning to feel. Somewhere along the lines, he ended up caring about the Winchesters. Both Dean and Sam, though Sam had made it abundantly clear - even after seeing him in his weakest moment before that final injection - that he wanted none of it. He wanted him dead, and that was the end of it.

Dean, however... Dean had been different. After his falling out with Sam, all that self-hatred and insecurity all combined together, just enough that Dean was willing to work with him. Willing to give him a _chance_. They were a good team, in Crowley's opinion, and he'd enjoyed watching Dean's progress since he received the Mark of Cain. Slightly concerned, but pleased all the same. His own private Hellhound. He could do without the attitude, but Dean was turning into a very handy tool. Just look at what he did to Abaddon.

He'd been using Dean - he wasn't ashamed to admit it. He was still a demon, after all, and shot up with humanity or not, agendas and plots were part of his modus operandi. But that didn't mean that he didn't care, because he _did_. Damn it, but he did. He cared about that idiotic, serial-killing oaf and his moose of a brother, a fondness that he was quite sure was some kind of insane imprinting, as they were the first people he'd seen after having his humanity partially restored.

And maybe there was a bit of jealousy and a bit of hope mixed in, as well. Because the Winchesters, really, weren't they the poster boys for the All You Need is Love mentality? That night, in the church, watching them through a sheen of tears... he saw_ love_. No, that wasn't quite right - he didn't see it, so much as he really _noticed_ it for the very first time, and he wanted it. He wanted someone to hold him, someone to save him when he felt that he wasn't worth saving.

A part of him thought he could find that kind of love with the Winchesters. Find family.

It wasn't often he was wrong, but this time, he'd been mistaken. The hunters' racism towards demonkind was too strong for them to see him as anything more than his species. They branded the word evil on his forehead, and he would never be able to wash it off. Not even with Dean, because with how things were, Dean would do anything to try to win back his brother's approval - and what did Sam want, hmm? The King of Hell run through with the First Blade.

Unacceptable. He'd begun to lose hope that he would ever find someone that would care for him, truly care for him.

Until Dean summoned him... and he smelled sulfur. Strong and pungent. It wasn't coming from him, as he disliked the scent and covered it with cologne. No, it was sharp and it could only be coming from one place: Dean. The rejected burger was the final straw after that. The story of how Cain came to become a demon played over and over in his head, and the hope restored itself.

Maybe miracles did come true. Just maybe.

His friend - or the closest he had to one - becoming like him. Understanding why he did everything he that he'd done. Understanding that as a demon, it was barely a choice to be evil. It was a drive, a hunger, an empty, freezing, sucking void in your stomach that clawed at you and _hurt_ and could only be quenched through violence and destruction. An ever-growing black hole in your chest, eating up everything but the most primal feelings.

He'd screamed out (with his real voice, of course, not the voice of his vessel) to the masses in Hell when he'd brought Dean down. He wanted his kingdom to know that he'd gotten the pride and joy of the human race and turned him into one of _them_. He wanted them to acknowledge their new member.

_Do you see what I see, Dean? It isn't easy, being a demon... but it is freeing. You were always so concerned with free will, weren't you?_

So many questions to ask. So many things he could teach Dean. But how to start? He sipped at his drink - he'd offered Dean one, but he'd quietly declined - and contemplated the hunter-turned-demon.

"What do you want, Dean?" came out of his mouth. He hadn't really intended to say anything, but it was as good a way to start as any.

Dean's eyes flicked up to meet his. They were back to candy-apple green for the time being. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I say. That is... what would make you happy right now?" Crowley clarified.

"Why do you care?"

"That's not how it works, here. I ask, you answer."

Dean dropped his eyes, his brow furrowing. His hand tightened on the Blade. He hadn't let it out of his sight since Crowley had brought him to his office in Hell. He thought it would be the best place for him, for the time being. Castiel was no doubt searching everywhere for his poor dead boytoy's soul, and he didn't want to risk hanging around at his home on Earth while the angel was ripping apart Heaven, Hell, and Earth alike for Dean.

It was like bringing the new baby home... only in this case, the baby was the Righteous Man who was now damned and home was Hell.

Dean seemed like he was in shock, if his subdued manner was any indication. Crowley cleared his throat. "The Blade... you want to use it, don't you?"

A lift of his head, straightening of his shoulders. Hands tightening on that donkey jawbone once again. "I..." He swallowed. "Yes." His eyes flashed black for a brief moment. "I do. I... I really do."

"Good, good. This is part of being a demon, Dean. You don't have to deny yourself any longer. You're _free_." Crowley finished off his glass of Craig, setting it on the coffee table. "If you want, I can give you an opportunity to get some quality time with that Precious of yours... if you're willing."

Dean narrowed his eyes (back to green) at Crowley. "You mean you want me to be your bitch?"

"Oh Squirrel... if I wanted you to be my bitch, you'd know it by now." He smiled at the other demon. "This is just a suggestion... a mutually beneficial one. I happen to have a bit of business up top. Group of Abaddon supporters who aren't happy that you slaughtered their leader. Boring and predictable as they are, they're trying to find a way to take me down. Usually I'd send some of my grunts to make quick work of them, but... what say we have ourselves a little outing, hmm? Get you used to your new species?"

"How many are we talking?"

"Looks like about thirty, if the reports are correct."

Dean was silent for a moment. "Did you plan this? Changing me?"

He suppressed a sigh. Back to questions. "No. I can promse you that much, Dean. This was never my plan. I never exactly had good intentions for you, but I didn't mean for this to happen. Not that I'm necessarily disappointed that it's come to pass..."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"I told you, I never lied to you. Not once. I think that you would know if I had, wouldn't you?" Crowley clasped his hands over his knee. "Can't scam a scam artist, after all." _We can both lie to ourselves, but we can't lie to each other. Not well, anyway._

Another pause, then Dean asked, "So where's the nest?"

Crowley smiled.

* * *

><p>"Cas... Castiel, please... I - I need you. I know Heaven's probably insane right now, and I know you've got a lot on your plate, but... please... <em>please<em>, Cas... I need you to help him. I have to try to fix things. He'd do the same for me... for both of us."

Hands clasped and head bowed, Sam prayed to the only higher being that had actually ever seemed to give a damn about them. His summoning of Crowley continued to fail, the demon hadn't returned his calls, and Sam didn't know who else to go to. He knew he would have to wait for Cas to call him or get to the bunker - he was missing the days where the angel could just appear - but he had to do something. He couldn't just sit here with his brother's dead body in the next room over. Asking for angelic assistance was the only option he had left.

He didn't want to ask this of Cas, though. Cas, with his draining Grace acting as a ticking time bomb inside of him. Restoring Dean to life, if he was even capable of it, could dramatically shorten Cas's lifespan. It might even kill him. But if Hell couldn't save his brother, maybe Heaven could. He had to do whatever was necessary to get Dean back.

What a hypocrite he was. He was always the one championing 'the agreement' - if one of them dies, leave it. Leave it, because whatever you do to bring them back will only make things infinitely worse. He'd looked his own brother in the eyes and told him that he wouldn't try to save him. That he wouldn't even _want_ to. A hypocrite and a liar, then.

_Why did I ever think that I could do this without you?_

"Damn it..." He took another sip of his whiskey, trying to focus on the sensation of it burning down his throat. He was in the strategy room, unable to convince himself to go to Dean's room and sit by his side. Because although the corpse in there looked like his brother, it wasn't. Dean was long gone. He was barely holding it together at the moment, and seeing his brother's cold, pale skin, overcome by the veil of death... no amount of booze was going to fix that.

The waiting was going to kill him, if Cas came at all. He could be fighting Metatron at this very moment, though he suspected the Scribe was already dead. Hopefully Cas and Gadreel were able to destroy the tablet, and there was nothing stopping them from ending Metatron... if Cas knew what the other angel had done to Dean, then Sam was sure that Metatron was probably little more than a burn mark on the ground, now. Either way, Heaven was bound to be in chaos.

But... he did know another angel, didn't he? Arguably more intimately than Cas, though sharing an anatomy with Gadreel had been anything but consensual... and Gadreel had restored people to life before. He'd brought both Cas and Charlie back. Would he be willing to help again? He wasn't sure where he stood with Gadreel. The son of a bitch had killed Kevin. Innocent, unarmed, barely more than a kid _Kevin_. It may have been on Metatron's order, but Gadreel had still made the decision to follow through. The angel regretted what he'd done, and he was trying to fix things, but still... some things were unforgivable.

However, right now, he found himself in a much more forgiving mood than usual. He would do just about anything, if it meant getting his brother back.

He bowed his head again.

"Gadreel... I don't know if you have your ears on, but... if you can, I need your help. Dean's... he's dead. I know you can bring people back. Dean's probably the last person you want to help, but I'm begging you... if you can help, I'll... I mean, it's water under the bridge, okay? Just please, I... God, I'm bad at this..."

"Sam."

Sam jumped halfway out of his chair with a sharp intake of breath. Cas was standing directly in front of him, looking grave. "Cas, how the hell... your wings?"

Cas nodded. "When the Gates reopened, our wings were all restored. I can fly again."

"That's... so you did it?"

"Metatron is in Heaven's prison, the angel tablet is broken, and the Gates are open once again. Heaven is restored. As restored as it can be." Cas didn't seem pleased by this knowledge. "Take me to Dean."

"Wait, back up. Metatron's in prison? You didn't kill him?"

Cas lowered his eyes. "There has been enough death today. Also... it will do you no good to pray to Gadreel." A pained expression crossed the angel's face. "He is dead. He sacrificed himself so that I would be able to find the tablet and stop Metatron."

"Gadreel's dead?" He didn't know how to feel about that. There was no lost love between them, that went without saying, but he had shared a body with the angel for months... his heart sunk lower at the thought of his demise. He wanted Metatron dead... God, did he want him dead... but Cas was right. There'd been enough death in the past few weeks to last a life time.

Not to mention, being imprisoned for the rest of eternity... that was a punishment worse than death, and no less than Metatron deserved.

"Yes, but now's not the time for mourning. Something has gone wrong with Dean's soul. I need to see him."

"Gone wrong? What do you mean, _gone wrong_?"

"I can't find it. Not in Heaven, not in Hell," Cas told him as Sam stood up. "Either his soul has not left his body, meaning that he's still alive, or someone is hiding his soul."

"Crowley," Sam growled immediately. "The bastard, I knew-"

"Enough, Sam, there's no time. Where is he?"

"He's in his room." Together, hunter and angel made their way to Dean's room, which was in between Sam and Kevin's. Kevin's, which they'd avoided like the plague since the prophet had died. They'd only gone in once, and that was to retrieve his things to give to Linda when she left with her son's ghost. Sam opened the door, slipping into the darkened room, eyes going to the bed-

And Dean wasn't there. The bed was rumpled from where Sam had laid him down, but his brother was nowhere to be seen. "What the hell?"

Cas froze in the threshold. "Where's his body?"

"I - I don't know, I left him here a few hours ago..."

"Someone must've taken him," Cas surmised quickly. "But who? And why?"

"Don't forget how. Almost no one knows about the bunker. Just you, me, Dean, Charlie, Gadreel and..." He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as the realization hit him. "And Crowley."

Cas's eyes darkened. "Have you tried summoning him?"

"Yeah. No answer. I don't know how he managed to ignore it." Sam felt rage bubbling inside of his chest, the same rising tide that he'd fought long and hard to learn how to control. But tonight? Fuck control. He kicked the foot of Dean's bed so hard that it left a large dent in the wood. Chips fell to the ground. He was breathing heavily. "We have to find him. And I don't care if I have to skin him alive, I'm going to find out what he did to my brother."

"I know all of Crowley's safehouses on Earth. I will find him." Cas's inhumanly blue eyes were glowing, and he knew he wasn't the only one enraged by this. Crowley had pretended to be on their side, played the benevolent ally so well, but Sam had known. He'd _known_. Humanity or not, feelings or not, Crowley was Crowley, and Crowley was always out for himself. God only knew what he'd done with Dean.

_I should've killed him when I had the chance! What the hell was I thinking? _It would've been so easy to finish off Crowley when Abaddon had him trapped. One jab of Ruby's knife, no more King of Hell... but no, he'd let him live. And now Dean was not only dead, but dead and not in Heaven, where he deserved to be. Fuck. _Fuck._

"Hello?" Sam was jarred from his thoughts by the sound of a voice calling out in the foyer. "Sam? Dean? Castiel?"

Sam and Cas's expressions both simultaneously turned into looks of confusion. "That can't be..." Cas trailed off. He disappeared. Sam suppressed an eye roll. Okay, maybe he didn't miss Cas's flight capabilities that much. He went to the foyer, and once he was there, he saw Cas standing by the table with his back to him... and at the foot of the staircase, looking very much alive, was Gadreel.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you to SPN Mum, twolittlewords, ofmooseandmen, BranchSuper, and monkeysknees for their reviews on the last chapter!_


	3. No Gods, No Masters

**Chapter 3: No Gods, No Masters**

_"I was born without this fear  
>Now only this seems clear<br>I need to move, I need to fight  
>I need to lose myself tonight."<em>

* * *

><p>"Cas told me you were dead," Sam said, watching Gadreel intently. The angel flexed his hands, glancing between the two of them.<p>

"I should be, yes. But I'm not. Somehow, I am alive." He seemed awed by his own existence. "I am sorry to hear of what happened to Dean. If you take me to him, I can see what I can do to help him."

"Gadreel, I watched you die less than a day ago. There's no way you could've survived what you did to yourself. What happened?" Cas asked, staring at his brother.

"I don't know. After I activated the sigil on my chest and destroyed myself, I... I woke up alongside a river in Washington DC, unharmed." Gadreel shook his head. "I can't make any sense of it."

Cas's brow furrowed. "You were resurrected...?"

"Alright, I know we should probably look into this more, but right now, we've got bigger problems: Dean's body's gone, and we need to find Crowley. You've helped us so far, are you willing to stick with us?" Sam didn't want to completely brush over Gadreel's sudden return to life, especially if whoever brought him back had less than good intentions, but his mind was completely one-track at the moment. _Where. Is. Dean._

A large part of him raged against the idea of continuing to work with Gadreel, but the more logical part of him knew very well how short on allies they were. Not to mention, with Cas's Grace draining away, it would be good to have an angel around who was at full power so Cas didn't have to expend as much of his dwindling energy. God only knew what would happen to Cas as his Grace continued to fade.

Gadreel's jaw formed a hard line, and he nodded stiffly. "I am at your disposal. Do you believe the demon took your brother?"

"That's the best we can figure. Now we just have to find him," Sam said.

"I know the location of most of Crowley's safe houses from my time working with him. I will search for him-"

"Castiel, it would not do for you to expend more of your Grace than you already have in the past several days," Gadreel cut across the other angel. "Give me the locations, and I will look for him."

Castiel drew himself up to his full height. "I am fine, Gadreel. But if it worries you, I can search half, and you can search the other."

Gadreel still didn't look pleased, but he didn't argue with Cas further about it. "Where should I look?"

"There is a mansion in Bootback, Kansas, a private prison on the outskirts of Minneapolis in Minnesota, and an abandoned steel factory in Hastings, Nebraska. Check them all. I will go to the others."

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" Sam asked, but before he even finished his question, both of the angels disappeared, leaving him alone.

* * *

><p>It was a haze... a giddy haze. Better than any drug he'd ever sampled, and over his life, he'd tried more than a few. Better than booze, better than sex. It was incomparable. He felt every beat of the heart he no longer needed as if it was an earthquake. His whole body vibrated with energy, with power and strength, more than he'd ever experienced before. His lips twitched, and he let out a sound that was somewhere between a pleased growl and a laugh.<p>

His body was screaming for more, but there was no one left alive in the facility. No one except for himself and Crowley.

He gripped the First Blade tightly in his hand. It no longer felt like a weapon... no, it was an extension of him. Part of him, just like the Mark. The Mark, which glowed on his arm, throbbed and burned, but in the best way possible.

There was blood everywhere. Caked on his clothes and hands, matted into his hair, splattered on his face. He licked his lips and tasted iron.

"Such a pity. I got you cleaned up just so you could go out and ruin your new clothes... blood stains are a veritable bitch to get out of white, you know."

He was covered in blood again, yes, but this time, none of it was his own. Dean smirked, dragging his sleeve across his face. "Clothes aren't clothes 'till they've got a few stains on 'em," he said lowly. Crowley snorted behind him.

"I think you're going to be a very quirky demon, Dean."

Demon. That was going to take some getting used to, being a demon. A forced species change... not something he ever really expected to go through after he was pulled out of Hell. It was funny that all those years in the Pit, that had been his greatest fear. The only thing that terrified him more than Alastair's razor, or the faces of his victims once he began working the rack himself, was the idea of becoming a demon. Becoming a monster, the very thing that went bump in the night that he'd spent his entire life hunting.

But really... it wasn't so bad at all. Humanity had been a wall for him, he realized. A wall between him and the true potential that the Mark and the Blade offered him. The salvation of battle had been calling to him for so long... and now he could finally give in without remorse. He didn't feel pain, anymore. No anxiety or guilt... most of his life, he'd been miserable. His life was hard and he'd barely been able to deal with all of the crap that had been thrown his way. He'd lost everything over and over again. It had been agony and grief on repeat since age four.

But now... all the bad was gone. He just didn't feel it anymore. What he did feel was really fucking _good_. And he wanted more.

"There are more nests like this, aren't there?" Dean asked, turning to Crowley. Crowley was in the process of mopping blood off of his own face with a monogrammed handkerchief. His eyes flicked up to meet Dean's. The other demon had joined in the fray as well, but he hadn't needed to do much. Dean had probably handled three fourths of the demons himself.

"There's an unfortunately large amount, yes."

"Good." Dean cracked his neck. "They're not gonna be a problem for you for much longer."

"Dean Winchester, I do believe you just confessed to wanting to help me..."

"I didn't say that," Dean said roughly. "Look, I don't know what the hell you want out of all this-"

"A partnership, Dean. A proper, two-way, beneficial relationship. You want to kill. I want things killed. I'm going to go out on an absolute limb of reasoning and say that you want power... you're already packing quite a punch, but you're lacking in the finesse department. I can help you. You can help me. Together? Well, together, we can accomplish anything, I think."

Dean weighed his options. Working with Crowley was serving Crowley, whether he liked it or not. Crowley was the King of the Demons... and now he was a demon. It was only logical that he was expected to fall into service. Then again, Crowley was one of the strongest demons out there. If anyone could teach him the ins and outs of being damned, it was him.

"Unless," Crowley said after his long silence. "Unless of course you'd like to return to your brother. I won't stop you. Though I admit, I don't think he'll be pleased with your new species. But..." The demon shrugged, sheathing his angel blade. "I've been surprised before."

Go back to Sam...? Huh. He hadn't actually thought of him once since Crowley had spirited him away from the bunker. Actually, it was probably the longest he'd gone in his entire life without thinking about his little brother. Was that why he felt so... _free_? Because for once in his life, every breath and every thought wasn't dedicated to Sam? It always revolved around Sam, didn't it? Keeping him safe. Keeping him _good_. Keeping him happy. Barely got a goddamn thank you in over thirty years, but he did it. He kept Sam breathing no matter the cost. Even if it meant letting an angel run around in his brother.

And did he even get a thanks for it? Ha. No, his brother condemned him when all he was tryng to do was keep the fucking kid upright. Sam Winchester, walking disaster extraordinaire. Dean was always pulling him off the edge of the cliff. It was his whole life. _Sam_ was his _whole life_... but right now, it didn't feel like that. He didn't have any desire to go to Sam and tell him he was still alive. No desire to return to the bunker and stay with his brother.

For the first time in forever, the words, "It'll be okay, Sammy," weren't ready and poised to leave his mouth.

Sam would not be happy that he was a demon. The exact opposite, he was sure. He would try to fix him, try to cure him... _save_ him. Sam wouldn't understand that he didn't need saving. He was better, now. Better than he'd ever been. He wasn't numbed, wasn't repressing anything - there was nothing to repress because he felt... well, he felt nothing.

_Nothing bad, anyway,_ he thought to himself as he glanced down at the First Blade.

**more dean more not enough ****_more_**

The voice of the Blade in his mind didn't terrify him anymore, not like it used to. Althought it was a strange thing to come to terms with... at the moment, now that he was changed, he found that he really just didn't care. About anything. Anything except for the Blade in his hand, which was screaming for more blood. He didn't care about Sam, didn't care about Cas, didn't care about Heaven or Hell... he just _didn't._

Apathy. It was a beautiful thing, it really was.

"...I can't go back to the bunker," he said at length, deciding not to elaborate further. He didn't have any desire to talk about Sam with Crowley, or explain his reasons for not returning. "If you want me to kill for you, I will. But I'm not your employee, you hear me?" He met the demon king's eyes, and he could feel his own flashing black. He needed to learn how to control that particular side effect of his demonhood.

"Loud and clear, my demonic friend. Loud and clear. We could do a lot for each other, you and I... and I won't try to control you, Dean. I understand you better than you think." The other demon spread out his arms on either side of him. "This is what it means to be a demon. Freedom and free will at its absolute finest. No gods, no masters."

"Except for you, right?"

"Not for you, Dean. Not for you." Crowley lifted his chin, giving him a scrutinizing look. "We both know full-well you're stronger than I am. I have no control over you."

"But you wish that you did."

"Oh no. I don't want to stifle you. I always like it when you surprise me."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh. Listen, we gonna stand here and bullshit all day, or are we gonna clean up this fucking mess?"

Crowley looked amused. "You're not a hunter anymore, you know. Or rather, not a human hunter with limited resources. King of Hell, remember?" He smirked. "I'll call my boys, and they'll tidy up for us. In the mean time... I think we've a few things to discuss. How you can make yourself useful in all sorts of fun ways."

Dean glanced away from the King, and then nodded stiffly. There was a lot of work to be done. Abaddon had a good amount of supporters.

**and we will be ready for them**

* * *

><p><em>"Take the summer for yourself, Chaplain. You need time."<em>

"Son of a bitch doesn't have a clue what I need," Ronnie muttered between gritted teeth. She started her Honda, pulling it out of the parking garage of the Navy Yard. She gunned it once she was on the road. She didn't feel like following the rules, today. She didn't know what she felt like - whatever it was, it wasn't anything good.

She wasn't the kind of woman that often let her temper get the best of her, but her calm was fraying rather quickly. Ever since she'd arrived back in the States, she felt as though she was poised on the edge of a cliff, and the smallest breeze might blow her off. _Time_ was the last thing she needed. Sitting around at home, how would that benefit her? Why would she want to be alone with her thoughts after what happened?

Lightning pulsed across the sky. A storm was coming. Looked like a bad one, too.

She wanted to be back in the field. Back where she belonged. But no, Lieutenant Grady knew best! She watched a Humvee full of her closest friends go up thanks to some twenty year old land mine, and she obviously needed to be shipped back home and stuck with nothing to do but stew for three months. Absolutely brilliant. She'd be better in no time.

Mom and Dad would be happy, with their precious little girl out of the line of fire for a few months. Matt would be pleased, too, especially now that he was living in DC and would be able to see her.

She wanted to see Matt, too, but she didn't just have one family; the Navy was her family as well, and the thought of leaving it all behind for the length of this stupid 'grief leave' made her want to punch Grady in his too compassionate, too caring face.

Rain began falling in sheets against the windows of the car. It became difficult to see.

They could've at least assigned her to Bethesda again. The naval hospital was always short on help. Why did they have to take her off of duty completely? They could've done plenty of things with her in the States. They always needed more hands on deck in the Chaplain Core. Hell, they could've put her on instructor duty down in Newport or Fort Jackson. Literally, anything but _grief leave_.

_Mandatory_ grief leave. Mandatory being the key word.

There was an enormous crash of thunder, and Ronnie wished she could cover her ears. Her windshield wipers waved in front of her, doing little against the onslaught of rain. Lightning crackled overhead, but she wasn't particularly worried. Wasn't a car supposedly the safest place to be during a lightning storm?

Suddenly, Ronnie's entire car was illuminated with brilliant white light. She felt something hit her hard in the chest, and her entire body suddenly burned and crackled with excruciating pain. She screamed, and she had the sense to jam her foot down on the brake. The tires skidded loudly. She couldn't see anything. Her hearing went out and there was nothing but a strange buzzing in her ear. She knew she was still screaming, she could feel the vibration in her throat. It seemed as though her nerves were being flayed alive.

Suddenly, everything turned to black. Black nothingness and numb pulsing. Then, she began to see something... an image... images... people...

_"Well?" Sam asked, crossing his arms. He already knew by the expressions on Gadreel and Castiel's faces that they weren't there bearing good news._

_"I found nothing. The mansion, factory, and prison were all deserted," Gadreel informed him. "There was no sign of the demon."_

_Cas braced himself on the large table in the strategy room, taking a deep breath. He looked pale, and he was shaking badly._

_"Castiel?" Sam asked worriedly. The angel looked like he was about to fall over._

_"I... I am fine," he said, though his voice argued against his statement. "I checked all of Crowley's more recent haunts. He has a mansion in Phoenix that looks lived in - he was there recently. All of his guards and minions were on sight, but there was no sign of Crowley or Dean."_

_"What did you do to his goons?" Sam inquired._

_Cas's eyes flicked up to meet his, seeming unnaturally blue for a few moments. "I killed them." The blood splattered on the side of the angel's trench coat suddenly made sense. Cas seemed weakened, though... had he been hurt?_

_"Cas, you look like you're about to fall over."_

_"It's... my Grace," he admitted. "I exerted a lot in the past few days. It's draining faster than I originally anticipated."_

_"You need to rest, brother," Gadreel ventured, but Cas shook his head vigorously._

_"No," he said harshly. "I'm not resting until I find Dean and put his soul where it belongs. If Crowley has laid so much as a finger on him, I will burn the life out of him." He clenched his hands into fists._

_"We'll find him," Sam stated. "We will... we have to."_

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you to SPN Mum, ofmooseandmen, BranchSuper, me, and twolittlewords for their reviews on the last chapter!_


	4. The Father of Murder

**Chapter 4: The Father of Murder**

_"And I have filled this void with things unreal  
>And all the while my character it steals<br>Darkness is a harsh term don't you think?  
>And yet it dominates the things I see."<em>

* * *

><p>"There's got to be some kind of tracking spell we could use," Sam said, flipping through one of the thick, dusty tomes in the Men of Letters library. "We just have to find it."<p>

"Theoretically, yes, a tracking spell could work - but we don't have Crowley's true name," Castiel said, resting his head in his hands. His head was throbbing like mad, his throat felt dry and scratchy, and his whole body felt weak and shaky. The effort of flying between Crowley's safe houses, and then smiting all of the demons in his current one, had drained him significantly.

_You only have so much Grace left. If you keep expending it like this, you'll die before you can save Dean._

"True name?" Sam echoed.

"Each demon earns a true name in Hell, given to them by their torturer. Some of them, the more powerful ones, usually, use their name. Alastair, Azazel, Lilith - but lower level demons choose to keep theirs hidden. It makes them more difficult to summon and harder to track. The only reason we're able to summon Crowley properly is because as he still holds the position of King of the Crossroads along with being the King of Hell, he has a specific ritual tied to him. However, that still means that we can't track him," Cas explained. "I know for a fact that Crowley is not Crowley's true demon name."

"How do you know that?" Gadreel asked, furrowing his brow.

"Because he told me," Cas answered shortly. His time working with Crowley was not something he ever felt particularly motivated to talk about. "Though I pressed him, he wouldn't tell me his true name. My social skills were rather stunted at the time, and I was significantly less persuasive than I am now."

"How the hell are we supposed to find him, then?" Sam asked, and he could see that the hunter's patience was wearing thin. He wanted to find his brother, to either bring him back or at the least put him to rest.

"Maybe..." Cas thought for a moment. "There's a chance that we are overestimating Crowley's involvement in this."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"The Mark of Cain... there are stories, I... it could have something to do with the disappearance of Dean's body." He wanted to be able to blame all of this on Crowley. He wanted the demon to have taken Dean's body for some kind of nefarious purpose, but there were other factors at play, here, and they couldn't be ignored. Dean possessed the Mark of Cain, and it was possible that it could have an effect on his body after death. He was horrified to even consider it, but he couldn't disregard the possibility...

"Stories?" Gadreel echoed. "Brother, you were there, were you not? You were privy to what transpired between Cain and Abel firsthand."

Cas gulped, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. Yes, he was there. Did he remember? Not particularly. There were many, many things that he didn't remember any longer. Between his memory loss after releasing the Leviathan, the madness of the Cage, and finally Naomi's tampering in his mind, much of his life had been lost into darkness, and no matter how hard he searched for it, he was met with nothing but blank space.

"My mind is not as sound as I wish it was," he admitted reluctantly. "Many of my memories have been lost, and I have never been able to regain them... but that doesn't matter now. What matters is that Cain became a demon very quickly after his death, from what I understand. It almost seemed as though he didn't go through the typical torture in Hell."

Sam stared at him, horror in his eyes. "Cas... you're not saying what I think you're saying..."

"I hope I'm wrong," Cas said. _More than anything, really. _"But we can't ignore the possibility that Dean wasn't taken from the bunker, but that he left off of his own accord... that he left because he's a... a demon." The word felt dirty on his tongue. How wrong would it be, for the Righteous Man to be damned, to become a demon? To be the successor of the Father of Murder himself? To go to Hell, to be saved, only to eventually become a monster anyway?

It wasn't fair. Not even close. Sam and Dean, who had gone through so much and saved so many lives, had continuously suffered and sacrificed for the greater good, only to be destroyed over and over again. No one deserved salvation more than Dean Winchester.

And yet, here he was, faced with the idea that Dean could be a demon. One of the things he'd spent his life hunting. Something horrible, dark, and sinful.

"Dean could be a demon?" Sam asked, incredulous. "How is that even possible? You have to go to Hell for decades to become a demon!"

"Not always," Cas said. "The Mark... its very presence corrupts and taints the wearer. As soon as he touched the First Blade, he was lost." Cas sighed. "I was worried that something like this may happen."

Sam shook his head adamantly. "Dean can't be a demon. He can't. He's..." Sam seemed at a loss for words. Gadreel grimaced.

"If this is true, and Dean has changed, what is our next step?"

"We go to the source," Cas said. "Cain."

"We... we find Cain?" Sam asked. "How?"

"I don't know." Cas rose from his chair. "He's a very powerful demon. Any area he stayed in would have strong demonic omens as a side effect of his presence. Gadreel and I can search for him..."

"No. I'm not letting you guys leave me behind while you do all of the heavy lifting again," Sam said quickly, standing up as well.

"Sam, you are a human. You need sleep - which I know for a fact you haven't gotten any in days. Once you've eaten, slept, and showered, search the Letters library for either Crowley's true name or ways to track Cain. They are the only two beings right now who might have any answers for us."

"Don't talk to me about rest, Cas. You look like you're about to fall over."

"I will be fine."

"No matter how many times you say that, I'm not going to believe you."

"Sam is right, Castiel-" Gadreel began, but Cas cut him off.

"My Grace is going to give out eventually anyway. If I can use what little I have left to help Dean, than that's what I will do. It's my decision." He looked at Gadreel. "Are you ready?"

Gadreel pursed his lips, then nodded. "Whenever you are, brother."

"I will call you if we discover anything," Cas said to Sam. Sam nodded, though he could tell the Winchester was furious at being left behind yet again. "And pray to us if you find anything further about Crowley or Cain."

Another nod from Sam, and in a flurry of wings, Gadreel and Cas were gone.

* * *

><p><em>"Focus hard on the circle. Make it your entire world. Think about only that."<em>

_"Yeah, I fuckin' heard you the first time," Dean responded tersely, glaring pointedly at the tape circle on the floor in Crowley's lab (read: torture dungeon) with all the intensity he could muster. Crowley had asked him what he wanted to learn first, and Dean told him he wanted to learn how to teleport. He didn't think it would be this difficult, though._

_"You're getting too angry. Although I do love your feisty side, if you let it get the best of you, you're not going to be able to focus well enough to get this done."_

_"I'm a goddamn demon now, and you expect me to be patient?"_

_"I'm not telling you to be patient. I'm no hypocrite. No, patience isn't what you need... you need calm," Crowley advised. Dean gritted his teeth. He was stronger than Crowley, but the demon had been around for so long and had spent so much time refining his powers that when it came to this, the demon king was far superior. And he fucking hated it._

_Dean took a deep breath, trying to center himself, but without the Blade in his hand, he felt... erratic. Unsure. Shaky. Confused._

**you need me**

_He flinched visibly, and Crowley narrowed his dark green eyes at him. "If holding the Precious will help, by all means." He gestured at Dean, and he bit the inside of his lip. It couldn't hurt to just hold onto it. He reached into his jacket (a new one that Crowley had procured for him upon their return) and pulled out the First Blade. It was freshly cleaned, as he had to wash it after his last outing. _

_Once his hand wrapped around the handle, his cool, crystal clarity returned. He sighed in contentment._

_"Better?" Crowley asked with an arched eyebrow._

_"Much." He honed in on the circle, then let his eyes fall closed, the image of that particular spot on the floor burned into his mind. He envisioned himself in the circle, and then-_

_"Brilliant!"_

_Dean opened his eyes, and he realized that he was standing in the circle. He glanced down, then smirked. He'd done it. Being able to just zap all over the place like Cas? Yeah, that'd definitely come in handy. Cas... his smile fell when he thought of Cas, though he didn't know why. Every time the angel came to mind, he felt like his thoughts hit a wall, and then his train of thought would slip away from him._

_"Not bad for a newbie, eh?" Dean asked, glancing up at Crowley. He'd already forgotten what he'd been thinking about._

_"Not bad at all. Now let's see if you can replicate it..."_

"I think she's waking up."

"Her eyelids? Yeah, they just fluttered."

"Should we call in the nurse?"

"No, no, we might just be imagining things..."

Ronnie opened up her eyes, shaking off the last remnants of the strange dream, and her retinas were immediately assaulted by harsh fluorescent light. She winced, turning her head away from the light. She smelled the sharp scent of disinfectant, and felt paper thin sheets on top of her. Hospital... she was in a hospital. Generally not a good sign.

"Ronnie!"

She glanced to her side. Her younger brother Matt sat directly by her side, her hand in his. Towering over him was Dale, her long time friend and fellow Navy officer. They both looked like they hadn't slept the night before.

"Hey, guys," she said weakly. She recognized the hospital room. They were in Bethesda, unsurprisingly. "Didn't know you were on liberty, Dale."

"Yeah, just got in yesterday. I was gonna call." He smiled at her. "You feelin' alright, Ronnie?"

"Feel like Hell, actually..." She groaned. "What happened?"

"Don't you remember?" Matt asked, tilting his head.

"Wouldn't have asked if I did."

"Your car was struck by lightning," Matt said, looking half terrified, half amazed. "It hit you - straight up _hit you_. The doctors are really freaked out. You've got this big mark on your chest, but nothing's really wrong with you, even though you should be like, a vegetable right now."

With a wince, Ronnie sat up. "You're telling me that I got hit by lightning?" she said slowly.

"Yep," Dale told her. "If it was anyone but you, I'd be surprised that you lived. But knowing you, well, you're too stubborn to die."

She laughed at that. "Got that right."

"I'm just glad you're okay," Matt told her emphatically. "When Dale called me and told me what happened-"

"He had a conniption," Dale filled in. "A very caring, brotherly conniption." Matt glared at him, but didn't argue.

"Wow..." Ronnie scratched the back of her head. "This is insane."

She was having trouble focusing on her conversation with Matt and Dale, because she kept seeing flashes of those strange dreams in her mind. They almost seemed like visions, with how clear they were. And somehow, she'd known everything that was going on, understood what was happening as if she was experiencing it herself. The premise of it all had been ridiculous - angels, demons, monster hunters, it was all stuff of fairy tales - but it all seemed so vivid in her mind... so real...

Matt snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Huh?" She jumped a little. "Oh, yeah. Totally fine. Just... I had some pretty weird dreams when I was out. It was nothing." She glanced around the hospital room, trying to clear her head. "Any chance I could get something to eat? I'm starving."

* * *

><p>Castiel and Gadreel didn't return until the next day. Sam knew that he was supposed to be sleeping, but the most rest he'd been able to get was about two hours with his face plastered to the surface of the table in the library. How could he possibly sleep when everytime he closed his eyes, he saw his brother with black eyes?<p>

"I think I may have located Cain," Gadreel shared upon arrival. Sam sat up quickly, blinking the drowsiness out of his vision.

"Where?"

"There are a significant amount of demonic omens starting in northeastern Pennsylvania shortly after Dean and Crowley met with him. Crop deaths, unusual weather. It's a wooded and secluded area, near a small town called Wallaceville. I've found an old farm house on a large spread of property. I can detect the stink of demonic influence on the area."

"What are we waiting for, then?" Sam said, rising to his feet. "Let's go."

Castiel nodded. "Yes. We have no time to waste." Castiel went to reach for Sam, but Gadreel beat him to it, putting his hand on his shoulder. In a flash, they were gone, and suddenly they were outside. A warm spring breeze pushed at Sam's hair. He craned his neck. He, Cas, and Gadreel were standing in the shadow of a white, three story farm house. Rotted wooden steps led up to the porch. Sam furrowed his brow when he heard the distinct sound of buzzing in the distance.

Cas tilted his head. "He keeps bees," the angel said, seeming faintly pleased.

"Should we just... go in?"

"From what I understand, it is custom to knock before entering the house of another," Gadreel advised him.

"Yes, it would be wise to announce ourselves," Cas agreed.

Sam face-palmed. Angels and their die hard love of the literal. "Okay, okay. Let's just go. I guess there's no sense in trying to surprise a demon like Cain. From what Dean said, he's put killing behind him, so if that's still true... we should be safe." Sam headed up the stairs, Gadreel and Castiel hot on his heels. When he arrived at the front door, he took the rusted knocker in his hand and rapped several times on the wooden door.

There was no answer.

"Can one of you do some kind of angel-scan to see if he's even in there?"

"I've already done so," Gadreel answered. "There is a strong demonic presence inside the house at this very moment."

Sam sighed. He knocked again. "Cain? Please, we need to speak with you! It's... it's about Dean. About the Mark."

The three of them waited. Sam was relieved when he heard soft footsteps from within the house. He was surprised to feel a thrill of anxiety as the demon neared. This was Cain. One of the first demons. The man - demon, whatever - who invented murder. Fratricide. He was Lucifer's most trusted, the leader of the Knights of Hell...

The door opened. A man stepped out. He had thick gray-silver hair and a beard to match, and piercing blue eyes. He wore a simple cotton shirt. He looked perfectly unthreatening, though something ancient lurked in his eyes. He saw millions of years there, just like he saw when he looked at Cas and Gadreel. The man considered him for a few moments before he spoke, his voice low and soft.

"I've been expecting you."

Sam blinked at that. Really? Because twenty-four hours ago, he had no intentions of coming to see him. "Are you Cain?"

"Yes." Cain's eyes went from Sam, to Castiel, to Gadreel. "The angels stay out here. I'll speak only to you."

"I will not allow that," Gadreel said, stepping in front of Sam. "We have no guarantee that Sam will be safe with you."

"I can take care of myself, Gadreel," Sam said, irritation creeping into his tone. This angel tried to destroy him from the inside out, and now he was defending him like some kind of white knight?

"He is no average demon, Sam," Cas warned him. Oh, he was perfectly aware of that.

"Either Sam comes alone, or this conversation is over," Cain said. "This house is warded against your kind," he said to Cas and Gadreel.

"Guys," Sam said over the protests from both angels. "I've got this. Wait here for me."

Neither Cas or Gadreel seemed pleased. "Be cautious," Cas said quietly.

"I always am," he said, then looked to Cain, who nodded once. The demon turned his back on them and headed back into the house. Bracing himself, Sam followed him inside.

The front door slammed shut behind him.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you to twolittlewords, SPN Mum, ofmooseandmen, and LeaderOfFallenHumanity for their reviews on the last chapter!_


	5. Too Far Gone

**Chapter 5: Too Far Gone**

_"If I told you what I was,  
>Would you turn your back on me?<br>And if I seem dangerous, would you be scared?  
>I get the feeling just because,<br>Everything I touch isn't dark enough."_

* * *

><p>"Sit."<p>

Sam obeyed the ancient demon's command, seating himself at the rickety table in the center of a small kitchen. Cain busied himself making tea, humming softly to himself as he worked. Sam clasped his hands together, willing himself to be patient. He wanted to launch into the third degree right off the bat, but if he wanted to drain Cain of all the information he held, he would have to play the demon's game.

Dean said he was a weird dude. He was starting to see that.

Time passed. The sun sank lower outside, painting the kitchen orange. After what seemed like an eternity, Cain finished with the tea. He set a cup down in front of him. The demon seated himself across from Sam, taking a careful sip of his own cup. Cain's eyes drilled into him. Watching. Assessing. He had the eyes of a soldier, retired or not.

"Your brother is dead, isn't he?" It was barely a question.

Fighting back a wave of emotion, Sam nodded. "Metatron killed him."

"The Scribe? Interesting."

"It's not interesting. I had to watch my brother bleed out in front of me." His jaw tightened as he added, "Again."

"I'm sorry, if you can even believe that. Truly sorry. I know what you're feeling."

"You killed your own brother." He kept the accusation out of his tone, kept it as more of a statement. Cain's expression turned grave.

"I did. But I also saved him." The demon sighed heavily. "You came for answers, Sam, so ask your questions."

"Where's my brother?"

"You told me moments ago that he was dead."

"Don't play games with me," he said, a low warning in his voice. "His body is gone. Cas can't find his soul, not in Hell, and not in Heaven. I... the Mark, your Mark, does it have some kind of effect after someone dies?"

"Effect?"

"Cas... he said that there's a possibility that..." He fumbled for the words. He was almost fearful to speak them, worried that if brought to life they could become true. "That Dean could be a demon, now."

Cain sipped at his tea. "I did not just turn into a demon after killing my brother. No, it... I didn't want to be what the Mark was forcing me to become. I killed myself with the First Blade, but the Mark held on. When I died, it corrupted my soul, and when I awoke, I was a demon. I see no reason why the same wouldn't happen to Dean. He is like me in many ways."

"Dean is nothing like you," Sam spat out, and he felt like a steel claw was reaching inside of his chest and squeezing. "He _isn't_. He would never hurt me. He never has hurt me." Okay, so that was a lie, but Dean never meant to hurt him. Never.

"I had no other choice." Cain's voice was steel. "Dean is more like me than you will ever know. Especially now. I tried to warn him, but he didn't want to listen. He was so enamored with the idea of killing Abaddon that nothing else mattered to him."

"You don't know my brother."

"He's a killer, and I know killers. We are bound by the blood we've spilled," Cain said. "I'm sure you want some kind of cure-all to fix your brother. I'm afraid I don't have one for you."

"I know a ritual that can cure demons, that can turn them human again-" he began, but Cain cut him off.

"Is that what you did to the Crossroads King?" the demon inquired, seeming honestly curious. Sam was taken aback.

"What do you mean?"

"His soul," Cain said, as if it explained everything.

"Crowley doesn't have a soul."

"The essence of a demon is a twisted, extinguished human soul - except that Crowley's is not extinguished. It has this faint flicker to it, like a smoldering ember."

That was news to him. They'd given Crowley a part of his soul back? "We tried to cure him. We almost finished, but we had to stop." _Because Dean didn't want me to sacrifice myself._

"I see. Well, I doubt that ritual will help Dean."

"How can you know that for sure?"

"The curing wouldn't erase the Mark. The Mark is permanent, unless transferred to another, and your brother will not be willing to give it up. Even if you were to cure him, the Mark and the Blade would eventually take hold. There's no going back once it's begun. The moment he touched the First Blade, it was over for him," the demon said, setting down his tea cup in a resigned manner.

"So you're telling me there's nothing I can do?"

"I'm saying that there is no way for your brother to be truly human again," Cain said. Sam felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. Hard. His lungs struggled to fill with air, and he felt and heard every heartbeat in his ears. Dean was a demon. Dean was a demon and there was no way to restore his humanity. He... he'd lost his brother.

_No._

"I'll find a way," Sam growled. "I won't give up on him."

"Demons aren't living embodiments of evil. They're dark things, hateful things... but they are not always lost causes. Your brother is a demon, but that does not mean that he can't be saved." Cain's eyes wandered to an old plate set atop the china cabinet next to the fridge. On it was a picture of a woman, the name 'Colette' written beneath it. "No one is completely beyond redemption."

"You're talking like you aren't one," Sam pointed out, confused.

"I am," Cain responded. "But without the Mark, and with my refusal to dip into my old habits, I am as close to a human as a demon can be, I think. I'm grateful to your brother for that much. He took a great burden away from me."

"And onto himself." Sam tried to calm himself. "I - I can talk to Dean. I can try to get him to give up the Blade. You gave it up, didn't you? Gave up killing and everything, tossed the Blade into the ocean?"

Cain finished the remainder of his tea. Sam had yet to touch his. "Yes," the demon answered.

"Then Dean can, too, right?"

"One can hope."

Sam took a deep breath. Hope wasn't completely lost. Not yet. He could get through to Dean. He had to. "Okay, then." He pushed himself out of his chair. "Thank you, I guess. For talking to me." He turned around, but Cain halted him.

"Sam."

He glanced back at the demon. "What is it?"

"Your brother... there's something about the Blade you should know."

"What?"

"The First Blade can't reach it's full power until your brother replicates what I did."

"You mean..."

"Yes. Dean will have to kill you if he is to become stronger. He is already as powerful as a Knight of Hell with the Mark and the Blade, but if he kills you? He will be unstoppable. Even now, if you choose to kill him instead of reach out to him-"

"I would never do that."

"You say that now. You've yet to see how he is as a demon. He may not be your brother at all. But as I said, the only thing that could kill Dean as he is now would be an archangel or the First Blade itself."

"But the First Blade can only be used if you have the Mark."

"Exactly."

Sam pursed his lips. "So... he would have to kill himself."

"Yes," Cain answered.

"He might do that on his own. Dean would never want to be like this."

"The Dean you knew, maybe. Once again... he's a whole new creature."

"He's still Dean," he stated, and he didn't know whether he was trying to convince Cain or convince himself. "I'll bring him home. He'll give up the Blade."

"I hope that's true."

"It is," Sam said forcefully. He looked away, and without another word, he made his way to the door. He exited the ramshackle house, leaving the first murderer alone with his cold cup of tea. Once outside, Gadreel and Cas looked at him expectantly. He noticed that Cas's posture seemed almost stooped.

"Well?" Cas asked.

"We have to find Dean. Now."

The expression that came over the angel of Thursday's face in that moment was the most poignant display of pain Sam had ever seen from him. "Dean is a demon, isn't he?" He was shocked by the fact that Cas's voice broke halfway through the question.

"...yeah. Yes, he's a demon."

"What will finding him accomplish?" Gadreel asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Did Cain tell you someway that we could restore his humanity?" Cas tacked on.

Sam shut the front door, swallowing with effort. "Cain says he's too far gone for that," he said quietly. "But if we can seperate him from the First Blade, there's a chance we could get him sort of back to normal. Cain gave up killing, tried living on the straight and narrow. We've got to get Dean to do the same."

"We have to make Dean remember who he really is." Cas's eyes turned distant. "Let's go. We have no time to waste."

No... no, they really didn't. Because every second they didn't find Dean, his brother was no doubt falling deeper into his own darkness.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, in Heaven, the remaining angels gathered, having heard a mysterious call on angel radio.<p>

It was the first time in many years that they had all congregated like this for any reason other than war... the first time since the apocalypse.

Asmodel was waiting for them. He had his hands clasped in front of him. He smiled at the assembled angels, but the sight of them all broke his heart. There had once been so many of them. Thousands and thousands of angels, a true army. A _united_ army.

No longer. No more than four hundred angels gathered in this particular slice of Heaven he'd chosen for this meeting. Some had died during Armageddon and the years preceding it. Many died during the civil war between Raphael's followers and Castiel's. Then Castiel slaughtered almost six hundred of Raphael's followers when he tried to play God. The year after, the Leviathan killed many more. Naomi's experiments picked off the weaker angels... and then there was the Fall.

Yes, many angels died in the Fall.

Really, it was somewhat amazing that almost all of the losses were caused either directly or indirectly by just one angel. Just. One.

Castiel. The angel who rebelled. The defective soldier. He'd done so much damage... he nearly erased their species from existence. Nearly destroyed Heaven in his foolish zeal. And yet, so many angels had still chosen to throw themselves prostrate at his feet. They hailed Castiel as a visionary, a leader.

Castiel was no leader. He was a murderer, nothing more. Castiel did not care about the Host of Heaven. He cared only for his human charges. It had been a long time since the angel of Thursday had been a true angel. He was a pretender with stolen Grace and skewed sympathies - he was running around with one of the first Fallen! Gadreel was perhaps the only angel who destroyed more than Castiel.

The angels... the holy flock of Heaven... they needed a true leader. Someone to guide them in God's plan as Michael once had, before Lucifer's vessel trapped him in the devil's infernal Cage. They had gone so far from what fate had ordained... and this was the result. Chaos, death, and misery.

The Archs were all dead. They were lost. Someone needed to step up - not to play God, but to serve God, as angels were intended to do. Someone had to save the Host before there was no Host left to save. He saw no one else rising to the occasion... it would just have to be him then, wouldn't it?

Asmodel was not a prideful seraph. He was _not_. He had no hubris, no sense of being qualified to lead over anyone else... he was like any other angel. He was always waiting for someone to command him, to direct him. He was just as lost as his other siblings. Their purposelessness pained him. He was truly only different from them in one aspect: he was willing to lead. Willing to speak up. He was willing to take this burden if it meant returning to the wills and ways of their Father.

Free will was **sin**. Free will was **blasphemy**.

Asmodel scanned his eyes over the masses. He took a deep breath, then said, "Brothers, sisters... thank you for answering my call. It has been too long since we've all gathered like this."

"Why have you summoned us all here, Asmodel?" an angel towards the front of the crowd asked. He recognized him - it was Cathetel.

"Heaven is restored. We have our wings back... I think it's time that we discuss our future. We need guidance."

There were mutters in the crowd. He heard the name 'Castiel' leaving the lips of many of the angels. _No_. Not him. "I believe that it goes without saying that this is _not _what our Father had in mind when he created us from the ether."

"Who are you to speak for God!" someone shouted from the back of the assembly of angels. More mutterings.

"I do not speak for Him. No one does. But, we know what God's original plan was. We all do."

Silence for a moment, then, "You mean Armageddon?"

He recognized the voice. Hannah. One of Castiel's most loyal. She would be a problem. "Yes. Judgment Day... it was supposed to be the end of it, of all of this. Salvation for the virtuous and faithful, damnation for the wicked... Paradise on Earth."

"Death and destruction on Earth," an angel by Hannah corrected. "Millions of humans dead."

"Sacrifices must be made for the greater good," Asmodel replied gravely.

"We were meant to be their shepherds!" Cathetel again. "To protect them and guide them."

Lies. Lies! Lies put into their heads by Castiel. Were they shepherds when Uriel destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah? Were they caring guardians when they flooded the Earth, killing hundreds of thousands of humans? Were they benevolent caretakers when they stole through Egypt in the middle of the night, murdering any first born son that wasn't protected by lamb's blood?

Protectors? Bah. The very thought was ludicrous.

"Have you not seen the state of the universe since the apocalypse was averted? The entire balance has been thrown off - Heaven, Hell, and Earth, all in woeful states of disrepair. The civil war, the Leviathans, Naomi's coup, the Gates closing and the Fall! What does this tell you, my family? This is not what our God wanted!"

"What do you propose we do, then?" Hannah asked, a challenge in her voice.

"We go back to the original plan. To what our Father ordained as destiny. We must free Michael from the Cage, and his vessel... and Lucifer. It's not too late to fix all of the damage that Castiel and his humans have done."

"You call saving the world damage?" Cathetel yelled. "He helped stop Lucifer! Raphael! The Leviathans, and now Metatron!"

"He disobeyed our Father's wishes! Look at what has become of us since he rebelled! The Winchesters never would've been able to stop the end of days without him! All of this, the destruction, the war, the genocide, it is _all because of Castiel_!" Asmodel tried to compose himself. It wouldn't do to lose his temper. "He is no angel, not anymore," he continued. "Even his Grace is poison, stolen and tainted as it is."

Mutterings and whispers... some of agreement, some of dissent. At least he had their full attention.

"Please," Asmodel pressed on. "We must return to the Light. Return to the original divine plan. It is the only way."

"And what if we don't agree with your plan?" Hannah asked. "What if we want to follow Castiel instead? Or follow no one?"

"Tell me, Hannah... where is Castiel? What does he plan to do now that Metatron is gone?" The angel said nothing. He knew it was because she had no answer. "I thought as much." He redirected his eyes to the crowd. "I will not force any of you to do anything. I am not Castiel," he said pointedly. "I am merely trying to save us. To do what is right. I am asking, not demanding, that you help me to do what God intended."

There was silence, riddled with anticipation. Everyone was waiting for someone to make the first move, he could tell. He could pick Castiel's staunchest supporters from the crowd, could see the rigid set of their backs, the hard line of their jaws. He was not hoping for defection from Castiel's closest. No, not at all - he was hoping to sway those who had not yet chosen a side.

Finally, an angel moved forward. Barachiel. He said nothing, but he knelt in front of him, acknowledging Asmodel as his superior.

The quiet and stillness was broken. There were jeers from the crowd, but there was also movement... several angels were coming forward, now. Armaita, Sandalphon, Machidiel, and many more. Soon the crowd was dividing itself in two; the angels kneeling before him in a sign of fidelity, and those that were standing shoulder to shoulder, glaring him down like he was Lucifer himself.

He didn't expect them all to join them. That would be foolish. But as the angels chose their sides, he was pleased to see that the amount of Castiel's followers was inferior to his own. They gathered behind Hannah, Castiel's defacto second in command. For every angel they had with them, three more came forward to him. They knew that he was their only hope, because he was the one who truly cared for them. Not some lost human cause.

When the waves had stilled once more and the lines were clearly drawn, he bowed his head reverently at his new followers. "We have much to do, but together, we can find our way back to the light." He raised his hands. "Rise, brothers and sisters. It is time."

They rose to their feet, and he saw hope in their eyes.

"Castiel won't allow you to do this," Hannah called. "We won't let you. The apocalypse is not the answer."

"I'm afraid it is, Hannah," Asmodel responded gravely. "It is the _only_ answer."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you to SPN Mum, twolittlewords, LeaderOfFallenHumanity, and ofmooseandmen for their reviews on the last chapter!_


	6. Lost in Darkness and Distance

**Chapter 6: Lost in Darkness and Distance**

_"And there's no way to know  
>Our future foe scenarios<br>That's when it turned on me  
>Where bobby pins hold angel wings."<em>

* * *

><p>"You've got to be kidding me."<p>

"When do I ever kid, Dean?"

Dean stared at the pitching machine that Crowley had brought into the backyard of his mansion - his new mansion, as apparently someone had come in and single-handedly butchered his entire security staff at the last one, not to mention completely torn the place apart. Smart money was on Cas being the cause. Crowley had been informed that the angel was looking high and low for he and Dean, quite literally.

Too bad for Cas. If the two of them didn't want to be found, they wouldn't be found.

"You completely pulled this idea out of your ass," Dean said. Crowley smirked at him.

"Afraid you can't take it?" the other demon asked with a slight tilt of his head.

Dean shot Crowley an icy glare. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to do. I don't even know how I pulled that mojo when I took out Abaddon."

"Generally when demons are first released from Hell, it takes them years, if not longer, to develop their psychokinesis. Even longer to work out the rest of their powers, if they ever even bother to try to train themselves, which most of them don't. Almost inevitably, a demon first uses their powers when they're in a high-pressure, life or death situation. Or a life or exorcism situation in most cases. So..." Crowley patted the top of the pitching machine. "Hello, pressure."

"I'm not afraid of balls, Crowley."

Crowley's eyebrow arched. "Somewhere along the lines, by some astounding feat of deduction, I was able to figure that out for myself," he commented. Dean did not look amused at the double-meaning. "Still, current species notwithstanding, your knee-jerk reaction isn't going to be a positive one, once I turn this on. Stay rooted to where you are, and keep the balls from hitting you. Hopefully your reflexes are sharp enough - don't worry, though. Demons don't bruise easily."

Demons don't bruise easily, but demons do get aggravated very easily. Several hundred balls and numerous, impressively long strings of swear words later, the pitching machine was destroyed and Dean looked like he was a few seconds away from killing something. As he was the only living thing in Dean's general proximity, that put Crowley in a bit of a pickle.

Not wanting to have his vital bits become the ingredients for a First Blade kebab, Crowley decided it would be best to halt training for the time being and give Dean something else to focus on. Something that he was undeniably good at, regardless of his nubile demonic nature.

"Alright - there, there, as I said, psychokinesis is a tricky thing to master, it may take awhile-" he said, trying to calm down Dean, who looked about ready to spit fire.

"Don't fucking patronize me, Crowley!"

"Let's take a break, hmm? If I recall, you have a certain vow you made a few months ago that you've yet to fulfill. Why not do that, blow off a little steam?" Crowley offered, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

Dean's eyebrows creased. The demon seemed confused. "Vow? What are you talking about?"

"Cain? Father of Murder? Ring any bells?" Crowley asked. Even as a demon, Squirrel was still too bloody thick for his own good.

Understanding dawned on Dean's face. "I'm supposed to kill Cain," he said. "Huh. I actually kind of forgot about that."

"Well, to be fair, things have been a little chaotic for the past six months," he said. "So?" He spread out his arms. "Up for a field trip?"

"Fine," Dean grunted. He withdrew the First Blade from his jacket and unwrapped the cloth than sheltered it. It fell to the ground, and Dean gripped the Blade tightly, his entire demeanor changing once it was in his hand. "Let's go."

"Ah-ah, we need to find out where our missing murderer is, first. I'm sure he's moved since the first time we met with him."

Dean's eyes glazed over, and Crowley was sure that his thoughts were anywhere but in that room with him. Green melted into obsidian. "I know where he is." Dean's voice barely sounded like his own.

Crowley tilted his head, curious. "And, pray tell, how do you know...?"

Dean's black eyes drilled into him. "Because I _know_."

He supposed some kind of connection between Cain and Dean could be expected, as they were both the only living bearers of the Mark and wielders of the Blade. Hoping that Dean wouldn't lead them astray, he let out a short sigh. "Fine, fine. A king's got to trust his knight, yeah?" He gave Dean a brief smile. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't returned.

"Follow me." Crowley blinked, and he was surprised to see that Dean was no longer standing in front of him. Huh. Crowley teleported in the other demon's wake, arriving at his side a split second later.

"Well, you may not have gotten the hang of psychokinesis just yet, but you seem to have a knack for teleporting," Crowley commented. Dean didn't respond. The two demons took in their surroundings, and both of them regarded the bee hives outside of Cain's residence with equal amounts of distaste. Crowley had never been much of an insect fan. Creepy, crawly little blighters.

"Are we gonna just stand here, or what?" Dean asked gruffly. "Come on." The other demon headed up the porch steps, not checking to see whether Crowley was following him or not.

"Eager, are we?" Crowley called, catching up with Dean. "Good to see you so wet behind the ears."

"Shut up, Crowley."

"Oh, you know you love the sound of my voice," Crowley said with a smirk, raising his fist to knock on the front door. Before he could, however, the door opened. Cain stood in the threshold, looking grave.

"I've been waiting for you," Cain said quietly. He stepped back, allowing Crowley and Dean to enter the rustic house. It was similar to Cain's previous residence, though it seemed to have a bit more wear and tear on it. The demon closed the door behind him, then turned to face them.

Cain's ancient eyes focused on Dean, and Dean stared his predecessor down unflinchingly. The Blade was gripped in the ex-hunter's hand, and Crowley had to admire his restraint. He'd half expected him to slaughter Can before they were even able to exchange pleasantries.

"Dean," Cain greeted quietly. "I see that you've fully undergone the change."

"Yeah," Dean replied. "Thanks for the warning, by the way."

"I tried to explain the repercussions to you, Dean, but you didn't want to hear it," Cain countered. "It doesn't matter. You were meant to be my successor. You would've taken the Mark regardless of the consequences."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know that you and your brother tend to spit in the face of destiny, but that does not lessen its hold over you. The bloodline of our family began in murder and one brother spilling the blood of another, and it will end the same way, apocalypse or not."

"Our family?" Dean repeated. "What the hell do you mean, _our family_?

Poor sod didn't even know where he'd come from. Crowley was surprised that no one had ever explained the base origin of the Campbells and Winchesters to Dean.

"You are descended from me. I was Michael's first viable vessel, and Abel was Lucifer's first. I never wanted Abel to fall into Lucifer's clutches – that is why I gave myself over to him and killed my brother. In Heaven, he would be safe from the devil."

"A bloodline going all the way back to Cain and Abel…" Dean muttered. "That's what Gabriel told me."

"And he spoke the truth. I am the beginning, and you are the end. It's time to fulfill your promise to me and finish this. I'm sure both you and the Blade are aching for my blood."

The way Cain was talking, it was almost like he viewed the Blade a sentient being. Crowley couldn't help but find that somewhat unsettling.

Dean nodded stiffly, his grip on the Blade tightening. "Any last words?"

Cain's eyes traced back to the same plate they'd seen in his old house; the one with his dearly departed Colette on it. "No," Cain said softly. "No, I don't think I have anything left to say. I'm tired. I've been tired for a very long time."

"Good luck," Crowley said sincerely. "Wherever you're going… if you're going anywhere at all." The humanity-induced hopeless romantic in him couldn't help but hope that Cain could be somehow reunited with Colette in death, though that was unlikely, if not completely impossible.

There was no salvation for demons.

"Thank you." Cain's gaze fixed on Crowley, really noticing him for the first time. "I wish you luck, as well. A demon with a flicker of a human soul burning inside of him... who knows what you're capable of becoming."

Crowley felt oddly chilled at Cain's words, and for once in his life, he couldn't come up with an appropriate response.

_A flicker of a human soul...?_

"Regardless of what waits for me, after all of this time, I think that even nothingness would be welcome." Cain took a step closer to Dean. The new demon's eyes were hungry, like a lion sizing up a fresh kill. "Do it, Dean."

Dean put his hand around the back of Cain's neck, drawing him closer. They stared at each other unblinkingly. Crowley had learned during their attack on Abaddon's loyalist nest that Dean enjoyed watching the spark leave someone's eyes when he ended their life. Everyone had their fetishes.

Without further ado, Dean drove the First Blade into Cain's stomach. Cain gasped as Dean twisted it and thrust upward, effectively gouging out Cain's entire abdomen. Blood poured from the mortal wound, soaking Cain's once-pristine white shirt and Dean's hand.

Dean smiled. Blood trickled down Cain's chin, and he looked sad… it was a kind of sorrow that could only be felt by a being that had lived thousands of life times. Cain lifted a trembling hand and laid his palm against Dean's cheek. Dean looked surprised by the contact. Cain was struggling for breath, and his skin had grown pale as a sheet. Orange lightning flashed underneath his skin.

The first murderer getting murdered… at least it was fitting.

"Only… love… has ever beaten the Mark," Cain whispered, and then his body went limp. Dean jerked the Blade out of Cain and backed away from him, as if the ancient demon's words had burned him somehow. Cain's corpse collapsed to the floor, blood pooling around him.

Dean's eyes were black.

"Well," Crowley drawled. "That was dramatic."

He couldn't help but ponder over what Cain had said, though – why would the demon use his last words to tell Dean that, specifically? What good would it do? There was no way for Dean to somehow beat the Mark and his newfound demonhood. There was no going back once it had begun. And love? He doubted even Sam could reach Dean, with the way he was, now.

"Are we waiting for something?" Dean asked. "Let's get out of here before he starts stinking."

"Quite the sentimentalist, aren't you?" Crowley smirked, although he privately felt somewhat disconcerted by Dean's behavior.

The more time he spent around the newly demonized Winchester, the less he saw of the Dean he knew. It was a given that he would change dramatically once he was turned, but he hadn't expected it to be such a harsh transformation. There was so much anger, so much violence, so much tension underneath the skin that he was no longer bound to. Occasionally he would see flashes of the man he'd attempted to befriend over the past year, but most of the time, Dean was... someone that Crowley didn't even recognize.

He supposed that really, it was his own fault. He shouldn't have been so naively optimistic about Dean's transformation. He should've known, shouldn't he? Should've known from his own experience that nothing really survives the change. He shared less than zero similarities with Fergus MacLeod. The only common denominator between the two of them was their joint love of Craig. He gained everything he was in Hell.

_Or did I lose everything?_

He thought it would be different, with Dean. He didn't have to go to Hell to become a demon. The Blade and Mark slowly forced him to change. More of a metamorphosis than a forced, precise, and cruel alteration. Because of that, he'd foolishly assumed that Dean would essentially be the same once he became a demon. A little more feisty, that was a given, but still the same at his base.

But he should've known that couldn't be true... because at his base, Dean Winchester was good... and demons could not be good.

He brushed his troubling thoughts away as best as he could. There was no turning back, now. Dean was a demon. Crowley would just have to adjust to him.

He patted Dean on the back, almost companionably, trying to hide his unease. "Feel like a spot more of training? You could be quite the prodigy, if we didn't have to keep taking murder breaks for you."

"You're the one who keeps suggesting them," Dean grunted.

"A dog performs well, you give him a treat," Crowley reasoned. "Do you want to master your powers, or not?"

Dean glared at him, but at length, he said, "Fine, whatever - but no more pitching machines, got it?"

Crowley snorted. His hand still on Dean's back, he thought of his new mansion.

A moment later, the two demons were gone.

* * *

><p><em>How are you supposed to feel when your best friend is a monster?<em>

That was the question playing itself on loop in Cas's mind, haunting him, because he honestly had no idea what to feel. It was easy to understand the tangible aspects of his current state. The fact that his throat burned like someone had poured acid into it. Or the black spots that hovered on the edges of his vision. There was also the pounding in his head, the drooping state of disrepair that his stolen wings were in, and the throbbing, continuous ache of every fiber of his being.

His imminent demise was something he could comprehend. The idea of Dean being a demon... that wasn't a reality he could so swiftly accept. It was his ultimate failure. Some angel he was, some _protector_ - it was a laughable concept, now. Dean was a demon, and truly, it was his fault. For the past year, he had been so distant with Dean. Although when he was a human, their separation was Dean's choice, what happened after Gadreel stole away with Sam, Kevin was killed, and he stole Theo's Grace... that was his own onus to bear.

He should've stayed at the bunker. He should've stayed by Dean's side and kept him safe from the temptation of Crowley's influence. The demon king's particular brand of darkness was something he had delved into before, and he should've been aware that Dean would be just as susceptible to it as he had been. If an angel of the Lord couldn't resist the wiles of the King of Hell, how could a human?

He could've stopped Dean from ever taking the Mark, if he'd actually been there. It wasn't that the younger Winchester hadn't needed him, but now it was far clearer that at the time, Dean had needed him more. Then he'd ran off to deal with the different angel factions on Earth, and his friend had only fallen further and further into the void that was the Mark.

He could've saved him. If only he'd been there.

"Cas!"

Cas jumped slightly as Sam's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "Y-yes?" he stammered, the words scraping against his inflamed throat.

"Did you hear anything that I just said?"

He struggled to remember the conversation he'd been participating in with Sam and Gadreel before he'd drifted off. They'd been discussing ways to find Dean... he wasn't sure specifically what had been said. He was finding that it was becoming more and more difficult to focus on anything. He stifled a cough. "I'm sorry... I must have drifted off."

"Brother, perhaps you should lay down," Gadreel suggested. Castiel felt a twinge of annoyance. Although he knew that Gadreel meant well, having someone so honed in on his physical condition was serving to do nothing but aggravate him at the moment.

He was dying. He had accepted that months ago, when he realized that his body was rejecting Theo's Grace. It was unchangeable, and he had resigned himself to it. Not thinking about it had served him well enough so far.

"I don't believe that I can rest at the moment," he admitted. "I think that we should perhaps focus our efforts on finding Crowley, for the time being. He wouldn't allow Dean to wander too far out of his influence, not with his current power. I imagine that Dean is a Knight of Hell, now. Crowley would never let that kind of power out of his sight."

"You think Crowley's controlling him," Sam surmised. Cas could see the dark rage dancing in the hunter's eyes.

"Yes. Or at least, as much as anyone can control Dean." Cas went to say more, but there was suddenly an ear-piercing ring in his head. He covered his ears with his hands, but then a voice reverberated in his head.

_"Castiel, you must return to Heaven, now! It is anarchy! Asmodel is taking over... they're going to restart the apocalypse!"_

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you to SPN Mum and twolittlewords for their reviews!_


	7. Heaven Above, Hell Below

**Chapter 7: Heaven Above, Hell Below**

_"Delicate in every way but one (the swordplay)  
>God knows we like archaic kinds of fun (the old way)<br>Chance is the only game I play with, baby  
>We let our battles choose us."<em>

* * *

><p>"I must go," Castiel said immediately, Hannah's voice still ringing in his ears.<p>

"What? Why?" Sam asked, confused and irritated.

Cas put a hand to the side of his head, trying to silence the screaming on the angel radio. "Something has happened in Heaven," he answered vaguely.

"This has something to do with the meeting that Asmodel called earlier, doesn't it?" Gadreel asked, apparently having heard his sister's call as well.

"What meeting?" Cas asked sharply.

"Asmodel called an assembly of the Heavenly Host earlier," Gadreel explained. "If you didn't receive it, I can only assume that he chose to exclude you from the call."

"Why did you not tell me this when it happened?"

Gadreel stared at him. "We were otherwise occupied at the time, and I assumed that you received the call as well and chose to ignore it."

"Who's Asmodel?" Sam asked, eyes darting between the two angels.

"An angel I apparently should've paid far more attention to," Cas growled. "We will return when we can."

The last thing that Castiel wanted to do was leave Sam on his own, especially when their need to find Dean was so imperative. If the situation in Heaven hadn't seemed so dire, he wouldn't have even dreamt of leaving at a time like this.

However, whether he liked it or not, he was the closest thing that the angels had to a leader – and he couldn't shirk the responsibility that came with that. If he left Heaven completely to its own devices, it had the potential to fall into a kind of chaos not seen since the Civil War.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he said when the hunter opened his mouth to protest.

In a flash, Castiel and Gadreel were gone. It wasn't even a question that Gadreel would accompany him to deal with whatever issue had come up in Heaven. In just a few short days, Gadreel had managed to win himself an almost astounding amount of faith from Castiel.

He hadn't been sure about Gadreel when they'd infiltrated Heaven together, but by the time that he was standing in the destroyed remnants of Heaven's Prison, he truly believed that Gadreel's heart was in the right place, regardless of his past crimes. He knew better than to judge someone solely on their mistakes, especially given his own past.

And of course, his Father had acted once again. He had returned Gadreel to life. That could only mean that the Garden's Guardian had a very important purpose to fulfill. As to what that was, Cas had no idea whatsoever.

The world was changing. That was the only clear thing, right now.

Castiel and Gadreel appeared in the shadow of a large maple tree. They were in Castiel's chosen Heaven, the eternal Tuesday afternoon. They stood on the shore of a small pond. Ducks quacked and swam in the crystal clear water. Cas took a deep breath, the scent of freshly mowed grass and honeysuckle touching his nostrils.

It had been a long time since he'd been here. A very long time. It felt almost like coming home.

But then, of course, he was forced to remember the last time he visited his chosen Heaven... images of black wings burnt into brilliant green grass flashed in his mind's eye, and suddenly his 'homecoming' was not so nostalgic.

"It is beautiful here," Gadreel observed quietly.

"Yes," Castiel agreed solemnly. "Yes it is."

"Castiel," he heard Hannah's voice call from behind him.

Castil and Gadreel turned as one. Hannah and the angel Cathetel stood in the clearing. Cathetel had been one of his staunchest supporters for years, even in his lowest moments. He'd been disappointed when Cathetel had turned on him after Metatron turned the tables on him several days beforehand. Castiel was glad to see that he was apparently on his side once again.

Angels were fickle beings, really.

Hannah's eyes widened when she saw Gadreel standing next to him. "It can't be…"

Cathetel looked stunned. "Gadreel? Hannah told us that you were dead."

"I was, but no longer," Gadreel answered simply. "As to the reason behind that, I am unsure – but at the moment, that does not matter. What has transpired?"

Overcoming her surprise, Hannah nodded, accepting the news. "Asmodel summoned an assembly of the Heavenly Host," she began. "He believes that the angels have lost sight of what we truly are."

Castiel stepped out of the shade and into the light. Gadreel followed close behind.

"And what is that, according to him?" Cas inquired lowly.

He had never particularly trusted Asmodel. The angel had been on Raphael's side for most of the Civil War. The only reason he survived was because he'd defected shortly before Castiel had declared himself the new God and massacred all of Raphael's forces.

"He believes that the last several years have been so difficult for the Host because we strayed from God's original plan," Hannah elaborated.

Cas sighed heavily. "Armageddon." It wasn't a question.

Hannah and Cathetel nodded gravely.

"He seeks to free Michael and Lucifer from the Cage?" Gadreel asked, incredulous. "That would destroy the world, and possibly Heaven as well."

"Asmodel doesn't care," Cathetel said. "He thinks that the War, the Leviathans, Naomi, the Fall – he says it's all punishment for our disobedience."

Cas could tell from Cathetel's tone that he thought that Asmodel's reasoning was, as Dean would say, total BS.

"How can he think that?" Cas asked, frustrated. "God wanted us to stop the Rapture! He helped us, He put the Winchesters on that plane when Lucifer rose, He resurrected me – He doesn't want the world end! The apocalypse was the Archangel's plan, not His."

"That is what many of us believe as well," Hannah assured him. "But some of the angels have fallen in with Asmodel, mostly out of fear."

"How many are 'some'?" Gadreel inquired.

"…A little over half," the female angel answered somewhat dejectedly.

"Half," Castiel repeated.

He let out a long breath, trying to think past the dull ache that consumed his whole body and the seemingly never-ending drum beat in his skull. How could so many angels be sucked in by Asmodel's fear-mongering? Hadn't they learned by now that ending the world would solve nothing?

"Those who have chosen to oppose Asmodel have already gathered together," Hannah informed him. "We are waiting for your command, Castiel."

"I don't command anyone, Hannah," Castiel told her weakly. "That is the point I have been trying to get across for so long – you don't need a leader. You can be free. You can make your own decisions."

Hannah and Cathetel merely looked confused by his statement. Cas suppressed the urge to sigh. It was still like trying to teach poetry to fish, if not harder.

"Please, Castiel," Cathetel said. "It is our choice to follow you. We want to help you save the world!"

Cas privately wished that the world could pick a more convenient time to try to throw itself off of a cliff. Why was it that this seemed to happen on an almost annual basis?

"I only have one order for you," Cas said shortly. "Do not engage Asmodel or his followers for any reason."

"But-"

"How many angels are left, Cathetel?" Cas asked, cutting the other angel off. "Four hundred? Five hundred? We cannot afford another war. We have had enough bloodshed to last a thousand years. Tens of thousands of years," he corrected. "Please… if you choose one thing, one command to follow, let it be that. Don't fight them. They're our family."

Both Hannah and Cathetel were silent for a long moment.

"But what if they attack us first?" Hannah eventually asked.

"We will deal with that when the time comes – if it comes at all. The only way to open the Cage now that the Seals are broken are the Horsemen Rings, which have been missing for years." A lie, but a necessary one. "I will make sure that the apocalypse is not restarted. Trust me, and focus on fixing Heaven. That is the only advice that I can give you. It is up to you whether you follow it or not."

"Will you at least come and speak to the angels?" Cathetel asked in an almost pleading tone. Cas frowned.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think that would be a good idea," he told him gently. He didn't want the other angels to see him in his increasingly weak state. "You all need to stop viewing me as some kind of Messiah. I am just an angel. I'm just-"

"-Castiel. Yes, we know," Hannah finished for him in a heavy tone. She glanced at Cathetel, who nodded subtly. "We will deliver your message to them, then."

"Thank you," Cas said, and he meant it. With quick bows of their heads, the two angels were gone, leaving Cas and Gadreel alone in the park.

"They want nothing more than to follow you," Gadreel commented once Hannah and Cathetel were gone. "Why are you so reluctant to lead? You have certainly proven your worth."

Cas didn't exactly agree with the other angel on that account. "There are many reasons. A valuable lesson that I've learned in recent years is that no one has the right to play God. By leading the angels, I am filling the void that our Father left behind. They will come to look at me as His replacement, and that is not right. No one but God, is God. The angels must learn to believe in themselves and their own judgment, or it will just be a never-ending string of false idols."

"Like the Hebrews and their golden calf."

"You've studied scripture," Cas noted with a hint of pride. Gadreel had been imprisoned since almost the beginning of time itself, so he was not present for the large majority of Biblical events, as most other angels were, so he must have taken the time to study on his own. "Yes… and I do not want to be their golden calf." He flexed his shaking hands, examing the lines on his vessel's palms. "It's not as if I am going to live for very much longer, anyway. In my current state, I am unfit to lead anyone."

"There may still be a way to heal you. Do not give up hope," Gadreel said.

Cas admired Gadreel's optimism, but he couldn't claim to feel the same way. He could see no way to save himself from being devoured by his stolen Grace.

"I must return to Earth," Cas said. "What I told Cathetel and Hannah was not wholly the truth – the Horseman Rings are not lost. If I am not mistaken, they are still in the Winchesters' possession. With luck, Sam will know where they are." Luck. It was something they never seemed to have a surplus of.

"Let us depart immediately, then," Gadreel unfurled his wings, preparing to leave. Cas halted him with a raised hand.

"Wait. I have a favor to ask of you," he said. Gadreel narrowed his eyes and waited for him to continue. "Heaven is a pot about to boil over. I cannot afford to remain here right now, but it would do for me to have someone here to act as my ambassador."

Gadreel tilted his head. "I don't believe that I fully understand your meaning."

"I'm asking you to watch over Heaven while I am occupied with matters on Earth," Castiel elaborated. "Dean and Crowley must be found, and I need to find a way to keep the Horseman Rings safe. If anything happens here, I need someone I trust to deal with the situation until I can come myself."

Gadreel almost looked stunned. "You would… you trust me?"

"You proved yourself to me, Gadreel. I have every confidence in you."

"The other angels..."

"I told you in Heaven's Prison that you had redeemed yourself," Cas told him. "I told you the truth. Hannah will spread word of your allegiance to me. The angels that are loyal to me will not hurt you."

"And Asmodel's followers?"

"I think it would be best if you steered clear of them," Cas advised him. Gadreel nodded.

"I will perform this duty with honor, brother," Gadreel said. He clapped Castiel on the shoulder. "Thank you, Castiel. Thank you. You have given me a second chance... a true second chance. I will never be able to repay you."

"You do not have to repay me, Gadreel. Be a good angel. Be the best you can be. That is payment enough." He patted the angel's wrist. "If anything happens, call me."

"Of course."

With a flutter of his wings, Castiel was gone.

* * *

><p>"I've got a task for you, Dean."<p>

"Where and how many?"

"Has it occurred to you that maybe I want you to do something that doesn't involve a mass killing?"

"That's really funny, Crowley." The dry look the once-human gave him spoke volumes.

"Point." Crowley cleared his throat, clasping his hands over the top of his desk. Dean was seated in one of the leather armchairs directly in front of him, running his fingernail absent-mindedly along the length of the First Blade. "I feel like the answer to this lies in the question, but do you feel like a field trip to Detroit?"

Dean glanced up. "Where and how many?" he repeated.

"I've already texted you all the juicy deets. I'd say between twenty and thirty. Enough to at least sate your appetite for a bit, hmm?"

"A bit," Dean agreed, already rising from the chair in front of Crowley's desk.

"Do you need me to teleport you there?" Crowley asked, though it wasn't so much a genuine offer as a challenge – nothing would stir Dean to better utilize his powers than the idea of having to rely on Crowley for anything. He'd been noticing that more and more lately. The fact that Crowley's powers were more refined than Dean's seemed to practically enrage the new demon.

Crowley thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't ended up skewered on the First Blade yet; he wasn't sure how predictable Dean's temper was, as he was still feeling out precisely who Dean was as a demon. It was best not to poke at a bear, so he tried to stay on Dean's good side as an attempt to keep him at an even-keel.

Sending him to Detroit, well, it had been said that you should throw a dog a bone, every once in awhile. Since Dean had spilled no blood since killing Cain two days prior, Crowley was sure that the new demon was beginning to get antsy, and an antsy Knight of Hell was not something Crowley wanted to have to deal with.

It made Dean happy, and it helped stabilize his control on Hell. They both won.

_But what happens when you can't feed his bloodlust any longer?_

"No," Dean said swiftly. "I got it. Might take me a few tries, but I'm getting a hang of zapping around. When you were at that meeting yesterday, I went to Antarctica."

Crowley's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Because I can. Duh."

Crowley smirked faintly. It almost gave him a sense of peace when hints of the old Dean shone through his new demonic demeanor. "The best part of being a demon," Crowley commented.

"No kidding." Dean breathed deeply, his eyes flashing back. "Catch you later."

Crowley blinked. Dean was gone. He really was a fast learner. Crowley twirled his fingers, summoning himself a glass of Craig and trying to push away and troubling thoughts that were related to the demon that just departed his office.

_Dean is fine. Hell is fine. _I'm_ fine. I've got nothing to be concerned about._

So why the hell was he so worried?

A knock came at the door of his office, interrupting his thoughts. He set his Craig to the side, clearing his throat.

"Come in."

In came Kayce, one of his newer hires who was currently acting as his much needed ears and eyes. Kayce was a slimy, slippery thing, but the same could be said about most demons, including himself, in some cases. He was useful, and that was all Crowley cared about.

Well, that and loyalty – but the demons as a whole were finally starting to get the picture on that front: serve the King, or die.

"Sir," Kayce said with a reverent bow of his head. "I have news."

"I'm waiting with bated breath to hear it," Crowley replied dryly.

"Have you noticed the unusual weather patterns of late?"

"Let's brass these tacks, shall we? I've seen the prophet omens. We all have. So, tell me where my prophet is," Crowley told his underling. He hadn't seen freak lightning storms like this since Kevin was chosen to be a prophet. Only one explanation – Cas had pushed some kind of button in Heaven, and now there was a new game piece on the board… a new prophet.

A prophet that he was determined to make his. Hopefully with less bloodshed, holy water showers, and significantly more success than last time.

"Veronica Whitaker," Kayce said hurriedly, skipping straight to the point. He placed a thick manila folder on his desk. Crowley picked it up and began perusing through it with narrowed eyes.

"She lives in Washington DC," Kayce provided.

Crowley nodded as he read through the file. Ms. Veronica Elizabeth Whitaker was, in her own way, just as impressive as Kevin, by the looks of it, though her inherent intelligence hadn't led her to Princeton, but into the military. She was a lieutenant in the Navy's Chaplain Core. She'd served two tours already, and at twenty-nine, her service record was practically glowing.

A picture was included in her personnel file. He slipped it out of the paper clip that was holding it and examined it. Although in the picture, her red hair was bound back and she had a stoic expression, she was still very pretty. He idly wondered what she would look like if she was smiling.

He continued reading the file that Kayce had put together. Whitaker's entire unit had been killed by an errant landmine in the Middle East. She was the sole survivor, having been thrown clear of the blast and inflicted with minimal injuries. Hmm. Tragic and beautiful. Quite a Shakespearian heroine, this one.

A police report was attached to the file. Whitaker had apparently been struck by lightning while leaving the Navy Yard several nights ago. She'd been admitted to the hospital, but miraculously, she was totally unharmed. Her attending doctor's chart was included – he had to credit Kayce for being able to get his hands on that – and it noted that she'd been having strange dreams that she wouldn't elaborate on the content of.

Yes. She was a very likely candidate indeed.

"Brilliant," Crowley said, closing the manila folder. "A new prophet – and this time, I'll actually get to her first." Castiel and Sam were no doubt going to be scrambling for ways to find him, find Dean, and turn the hunter back into a full-on, Mark-of-Cain-free human. They wouldn't be paying attention to anything else, which worked to his advantage.

"What are you going to do, sir?"

"Take a trip to DC," Crowley said. "I haven't been to the Capital in ages. I'll make a day of it."

"Are you going to have Dean accompany you?" the demon inquired. He wasn't surprised by the question; Dean and Crowley had been essentially inseparable since Dean had awakened from his pseudo-death with black eyes.

Although Crowley wouldn't dare admit it aloud, it had been a nice change. He was accustomed to being on his own, and before the Winchesters' botched half-curing of his demonic nature, that had never bothered him… but this past year, the silence, the solitude… it had been a torture in and of itself. He didn't relish being left with his own thoughts. Dean's presence was a distraction, and he appreciated it.

He had a friend, now, a friend who wouldn't kill him just to appease his younger brother. It was a very pleasant change from his relationship with Dean when he'd been human.

"Dean is not particularly well-suited for situations as delicate as this... anything that doesn't require brutal murder isn't really in his wheelhouse," Crowley replied, standing up. "Nicely done, Kayce. You've more potential than I originally thought."

Kayce looked pleased. "Thank you, my King."

Oh, he did like it when his charges called him that. "Push all of my appointments ahead until tomorrow," he told him. "If everything goes well, I shouldn't be long."

A nod from Kayce, and the demon disappeared out of Crowley's office. Crowley cleaned up his half empty glass with a snap of his fingers, examined himself in the mirror, and then teleported to Washington DC with barely a thought, right in front of the apartment building in Fairfax that Veronica Whitaker called home.

He'd already memorized her whole file. Photographic memory came in handy, certainly. Every good hunter should know what they were hunting.

He crossed the street and made his way into the tall, pristine-looking apartment complex. It was a higher-end kind of residence, he could tell. Her apartment was on the second floor, apartment B, according to the address in her personnel file. He made his way up the stairs. He paced down the hall before halting in front of the proper apartment.

There were several ways that this could go. With luck, she was a prophet like Kevin – tablets only – which of course meant that there were more tablets to be decoded, which could certainly work in his favor, unless they contained another recipe for the downfall of Hell. Regardless, any information from God Himself would be valuable.

If she was a prophet in the style of Chuck, that could be to his advantage in its own way. All the better to spy on Sam and Castiel with, keep tabs on them to make sure they weren't up to anything that would lead to his immediate demise. However, if Ms. Whitaker was seeing the next installation of the 'Winchester Gospel', she would likely be having visions of both halves of the dynamic duo... meaning she might recognize him on sight from seeing scraps of Dean's new lifestyle.

Most people don't react well to finding the King of Hell on their doorsteps. That could be a problem.

He had a plan in place for any scenario. He would deal with whatever resistance the possible prophet offered; when he wanted something, he got it, no matter what means were required to obtain it.

Crowley lifted his hand and knocked twice on the door. There was a muffled, "Coming!" from the other side. A moment later, the door opened, and the woman he'd seen in the file stepped out, though she looked much different in person, minus the stern military dress and demeanor. Long red hair hung down past her shoulders. She was dressed in loose fitting sweat pants and a green tank top.

When her hazel eyes fixed on him, they widened almost comically.

"Oh my God." She stared at him for several seconds.

And then she slammed the door in his face.

_Well, this is going fabulously so far._

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you to SPN Mum, Guest, twolittlewords, TheOneandOnlyGoddessofAwesome, gr8read, ofmooseandmen, and Guest for their reviews on the last chapter!_


	8. A Man of Wealth and Taste

**Chapter 8: A Man of Wealth and Taste**

__"Are you searching for an answer_  
><em> Or just peace of mind?<em>  
><em> When your life has lost its meaning<em>  
><em> Maybe you need a little time."<em>_

* * *

><p>Ronnie leaned against her shut front door, breathing hard. She had to have imagined what she'd just seen, obviously. The King of Hell she'd been seeing in her dreams wasn't really waiting outside of her door.<p>

_That's what you get when you don't sleep for days,_ she chastised herself. _You get an all expenses paid trip to Crazy Town. _Her never-ending stream of vivid and insane dreams had been interrupting her sleep for nights since she was discharged from the hospital. Her vivid and insane dreams which were apparently leaking into her real life.

In the dream she'd had the night before, Crowley had been talking to one of his demons about tracking her down, because she was a 'prophet'. And now he was outside of her door. She didn't even want to think about the implications of that.

_Just calm down. You're hallucinating._

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she tried to collect herself. When she opened them, she would open her door, and no one would be standing there, and then she would take some Advil, have a hot cup of tea, and try to get some sleep before she had a complete psychotic breakdown.

"Love, if you already know who I am, then you know I don't need doors to get where I need to go."

She let out a gasp at the sound of the familiar gravelly voice so nearby, her eyes snapping open. Crowley stood by her sofa, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, regarding her with a look that was made up of half interest, half amusement.

He appeared exactly as he did in her visions. Medium height, taller than her but shorter than the average man. Neatly brushed brown hair. Slightly weighty, but with his perfectly tailored black suit, it was hardly noticeable. His eyes were intense, dark green and focused. Focused on her, presently.

She pinched her arm. Crowley raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm dreaming," she told him in answer to his inquisitive expression. _Why am I explaining this to a figment of my imagination?_

"While I'm flattered, I am very distinctly not what dreams are made of," Crowley replied. "And I think you know, deep down, that the things you've been seeing aren't _dreams_. Not really."

Ronnie shook her head. "This is completely ridiculous." She pinched her arm again, harder. Crowley remained in her living room. She half-expected Dean to pop out at any moment, which was not a pleasant prospect, as he certainly seemed to be the less civil half of the demonic duo. "What I've been seeing? That can't be real," she argued. "Angels, demons, Cain, the Winchesters, _you_... it's just not possible."

"You're a Chaplain, aren't you?" Crowley asked. "Don't you subscribe to a certain book with similar stories?"

"Demons were not described like this in the Bible," she said emphatically, pointing at him. "You're all British and cute and - and _sane_, from what I've seen. No spinning head, or speaking in a foreign language, or biting off your own tongue-"

"I'm afraid this is the real world, not _The Exorcist_," Crowley told her with a faint smirk. "While some of my less intelligent demonic brethren prefer the melodramatic approach, I choose to be more subtle." He considered her for a moment. "But let's not waste any time, hmm? What say we skip the next few stages and get right to acceptance; everything you've been seeing is real." He gestured down at himself. "And you here you have it, living proof in the flesh... of a moderately successful literary agent out of New York."

How could she just accept something like this? True, wringing her hands and continually trying to wake herself up from a nonexistent dream wasn't going to help anything, but still. She supposed that for now, she was going to have to operate on the basis that her visions were indeed as real as the man - no, _demon_ - standing in front of her. She hoped that something would prove her wrong sometime in the very near future.

"So you're... you're really the King of Hell?" she asked hesitantly.

She hadn't seen Crowley do anything actually violent in any of her visions so far, but she had a feeling that was only because he had Dean to use as his own personal attack dog. Dean was in Detroit, according to what she'd seen, so Crowley was on his own. She wasn't worried that he would hurt her, per se, but she still found herself wishing she had some manner of defense against the demon. The knife she had concealed in a sheath at her ankle certainly wasn't going to help her, here.

"Guilty as charged," Crowley conceded. She could believe it. He held himself like a man with power, like a king.

"Does that make you the devil?"

"No. Well, yes. Sort of. It's complicated. The devil's dead - gone, that is, thanks in part to yours truly - and I run Hell, now. Much better than he ever did, might I add," Crowley told her.

"The _devil_ is _gone_?" she repeated. "How is that-"

"As much as I would love to clear up your confusion, we don't really have time for a full plot synopsis at present," Crowley cut across her. "I can give you a certain series of books that may help you later, but for now, suffice it to say that while I _am_ the King of Hell, I don't mean you any harm."

"Prophet," she said, mind racing. "That's what you said last night, in my dr- vision, whatever. When you were talking to that other demon. Is that what I am? Is that why you're here? You want to know what I'm seeing?"

"Yes, yes, and yes," Crowley answered swiftly, giving her an appraising look. He came closer. If she wasn't already pressed against her door, she would've backed further away. She was fairly certain that Crowley wouldn't hurt her, but not enough to bet her life on it.

"We could do a lot for each other, you and I," he continued.

"I don't want anything from the demon King of Hell," Ronnie responded, drawing herself up to her full height. "I'm not going to help you."

"Why ever not?" Crowley asked with an air of false innocence.

"Because you're a _demon_!"

"So racist. I'm so much more than just a _demon_, so much more than my species... look. You have gift. A God-given gift," he continued. "I want to capitalize on that, like any good businessman."

"I'm not going to spy on your enemies for you," Ronnie told him. "I'm not going to help you, period. There's nothing you can say that will change my mind."

"Veronica-"

"Ronnie," she cut across him, wincing at the sound of her full name. Crowley gave her a curious look. "I hate my full name."

"Ronnie," Crowley amended. "I can give you anything you want."

"I don't want anything-"

"-from the King of Hell, yes, we've covered that," he interrupted. "But I don't think you quite fully understand the extent of what that 'anything from me' can be." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I know what happened to your squad... I have power, Ronnie. Unimaginable power. I could bring your entire unit back to life, give them a second chance. All I need is a little cooperation, and I can save them."

"What gives you the right to play God?" she challenged. "To decide who lives and who dies?"

"Because I care more about what happens to this rock than your _God_ ever did," Crowley said, bristling slightly. "And I've certainly done more to look after it than He has."

"God watches over all of us-"

"I'm not here for a theological debate," he interjected. "Wouldn't you like to see all of your friends and comrades brought back to life? Just like that?" He snapped his fingers. "No more sleepless nights, no more survivor's guilt-"

"Don't presume to know me," she snapped. "I don't care what was in that file that your demon handed you, you don't know who I am and you don't know what I've been through. If you had, you wouldn't be here at all, because you would know that I would never agree to something like this."

Crowley watched her for a long moment. She tried to read his expression, but his eyes were inscrutable. A pit formed in her stomach as she realized the unlikelihood that Crowley would just let her walk away from this conversation. She could run, but she wasn't terribly confident in her ability to get away from a demon who could teleport. She wasn't so sure about 'unimaginable power' - it seemed that Dean was the stronger of the two demons when it came to raw power - but his supernatural abilities certainly gave him an edge over her.

"I tried to be polite," he said in a monotone. "But, I think you and I both know that this isn't a discussion."

Theory confirmed. This was a kidnapping. Crowley had just tried to be nice about it.

However, she realized something in that moment. In spite of the fact that there was very little chance that she could get out of here without getting captured by Crowley, she still held most of the power in their current situation. Crowley needed her, and he needed her gift, but how much she told him about her visions was completely in her court, unless mindreading was one of the demon's powers, which she was fairly sure it was not.

Unless a miracle happened, she was going to have to go with the King of Hell. But it was all up to her what she told him of what she saw. She'd had visions from Castiel, Sam, Gadreel, Dean, and Crowley's point of view. From what she had seen so far, Crowley and Dean certainly weren't on the good side of things. If she could inadvertently help Sam, Cas, and Gadreel, she could at least make some kind of difference. She would be a woman on the inside, sabotaging Hell's hierarchy from within.

She'd never been in covert ops, but it appeared to be the only choice she had, because she wasn't going to help the King of Hell and his Knight stay one step ahead of his enemies.

Not to mention, just because Crowley had caught her, didn't mean that he would be able to keep her. She would find a way to escape, eventually. She would bide her time until then and try to help Sam and his angelic friends.

"So, you're forcing me, I take it?" Ronnie asked.

"_Force_ is such a strong word... let's say that I'm aggressively requesting that you pack a bag and come with me."

"You want me to leave my entire life behind?"

"Sorry, darling," Crowley apologized, but he didn't appear contrite in the least. "You're an important chess piece on the board, and I'm not letting you out of my sight." A moment later, a medium-sized white blade dropped out of Crowley's sleeve, and from her visions, she knew it to be an angel blade. She wondered if Crowley had killed an angel to get it. "Now, about that aggressive request?"

Her heart sank, and with a heavy sigh leaving her lips, Ronnie went to pack a suitcase.

* * *

><p>When Cas returned to the bunker, he returned to a seemingly very angry Sam Winchester. Sam sat at the table in the strategy room, a bottle of bourbon inches away from his hand, his eyes fixed on a thick, dusty lore book that appeared to be written in Latin. As soon as he heard the flutter of Cas's wings, he looked up, eyes bright with intoxication and condemnation.<p>

"What the hell, Cas?"

"I'm sorry, there was a matter to deal with in Heaven-"

"I don't care!" Sam cut across him, and Cas noticed that the bottle Sam had was nearly half-empty. He hadn't been gone for very long at all. If Sam had consumed that much alcohol in that amount of time, then he was most likely drunk to the point of unreasonableness. "I don't care about Heaven, or the angels, or - or _anything_!" He shook his head, rising from his seat. "I needed you here," he said roughly.

"I know, Sam," Cas said, attempting to appease the hunter. "But-"

"No, you _don't_ know!" Sam slammed his hand down on the table. "My brother is a fucking DEMON! And there is _nothing_ I can do to change that! This is my fault! All he ever tried to do was save _me_, he spent his whole life trying to keep _me_ good, trying to keep _me_ from going dark side, and the one time in his damn life he needs me to do the same for him, I push him away, and I treat him like shit, and - and I _let_ him go after Metatron, I _let_ him do it, and I - I - _I could've stopped him!_"

Cas watched with increasing sorrow as Sam fell to pieces in front of him. He'd been expecting this since Dean had died. Humans could only be so strong for so long before they collapsed under the weight of their burdens, both real and imagined.

"I could've stopped him. I shouldn't have let him leave after... after Kevin. He needed me," Sam fell back into his chair. He put his head in his hands. "He needed me, and I wasn't there, and then Crowley got to him, and now there's no going back, there's no changing anything, and if I couldn't save him then, how the _hell_ can I save him now?"

"You love your brother, Sam," Cas said quietly. "This is not wholly on your shoulders. There was much I could've done for Dean that I did not do."

"Yeah, because you were _here_, with _me_," Sam argued, and he saw that there were tears in the younger Winchester's eyes. "It was always all about me and what I needed. Selfish... I was so fuckin' selfish," he slurred before lifting his head. "And I - I've got nothing. _Nothing_. Except you, Cas. You're all I've got, and you and Gadreel keep running off, and leaving me here... and I'm _useless_. I'm as useless as I was before, because I couldn't do anything for Dean then and I can't do anything for him now... and... Cas, I..."

The hunter's large shoulders trembled, and tears escaped his eyes, trailing down his face. Castiel was almost shocked at the poignant display of emotion from Sam. He wasn't sure what he was expected to do in this situation. Going strictly off of what he had seen on the television, situations such as this were typically remedied by a comforting word and an embrace. Without any other notion of what to do, Cas went to Sam and offered him a hand. Sam looked up at him wordlessly with glistening eyes, but after a moment, he took his extended hand.

Cas dragged him up and out of the chair and promptly wrapped his arms around Sam, as the hunter had taught him to what seemed like a lifetime ago, though in reality it had only been a few months.

Sam shook like a leaf under his grip, and Cas found himself supporting him, which was admittedly not the best idea, given his own flagging strength. He held onto Sam for an indeterminable amount of time before he finally spoke.

"I understand that this is hard," Castiel ventured, struggling to find the right words. He had never been terribly talented at dealing with human emotions, even after his stint with humanity. He wished for Dean's ability to somehow always say the right thing, the comforting thing.

Dean could bring him back to life with just a few words, remind him of who he was with just a sentence. Cas wished he was capable of that.

"But... we will fix this," he tried, and his words felt weak.

"It's too late," Sam responded as his arms came up around the angel's back. "There's no going back."

"It's never too late, Sam," he replied. "We have proven that over and over again. There is no such thing as the point of no return. We will find your brother, we will bring him home, and we will remind him of who he really is." _Or we will die trying._

Sam pulled back, and Cas was relieved to find that perhaps his words had given the hunter a flicker of hope. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know Dean," Cas said simply. "And I know you. Neither of you will stop until your family is back together."

Sam looked at him for a long moment, swallowing with effort. His tears had stopped, but his eyes still held a shimmer to them. "Our family," he croaked out, voice somewhat hoarse. "It's - it's _our_ family, Cas."

Sam's words struck Cas bone-deep, and he couldn't help but think that perhaps Sam had the same unintentional skill with words that his older brother had.

_"We're family, Cas," _Dean's words from well over a year ago echoed in his mind.

"Yes," Cas agreed. "Our family." Cas tightened his grip on Sam's shoulder, and he sent a current of his weakening Grace through him, willing him into an exhausted state - which wasn't much effort at all, considering the human had barely slept in days.

With another push of Grace, they were in Sam's bedroom. Gingerly, he guided the large man to his bed and seated him on the edge. Sam was surprisingly malleable under his grip. "You should sleep, Sam."

Sam collapsed backwards onto his bed. "'m not tired," he said weakly as his eyes fell shut.

A hint of a smile tugged at Castiel's lips, and he wondered if this was what it felt like to have a younger brother. He made to depart Sam's room, but he remembered that he still had an incredibly important matter to discuss with Sam. He looked back at the Winchester, who looked seconds away from falling asleep. He would have to explain the situation with Asmodel later. For now, he only needed one thing.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are the Horseman Rings?"

Sam rolled over so he was lying facedown on the bed. "Dunno. They used to be in Bobby's vault."

That was all he needed to know. "Thank you, Sam," he said. "Sleep well."

Castiel originally intended on leaving once he ascertained the location of the Horseman Rings, but as Sam's quiet snores drifted to his ears, he felt inclined to stay. He had left Sam alone far too often since Dean's death and subsequent demonization. Sam needed him, right now. In spite of the situation in Heaven, he had a responsibility to the Winchester... to his family.

Castiel seated himself in the chair in front of Sam's desk, folding his hands in his lap. He would watch over Sam as he slept, just like he had watched over Dean so many times before.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you to TheOneandOnlyGoddessofAwesome, SPN Mum, Guest, twolittlewords, and ofmooseandmen for their reviews on the last chapter!_


	9. Of Monsters and Men

** Chapter 9: Of Monsters and Men**

__"I'm a monster if that means I'm misunderstood  
>'Cause it's alive, and I can't hide it<br>The energy is rising  
>And I'm a traitor if that means I've turned on myself."<em>_

* * *

><p>If there was one emotion he hated more than any of the others that had been forced on him by his partial humanity, it was guilt. Guilt surpassed rage, sorrow, wistfulness, loneliness... guilt, he was fairly sure, was the defining characteristic of the humans, or at least the ones that weren't prototypical psychopaths. It encompassed every negative feeling into one, forming a sharpened point that seemed to dig into his chest. Crowley did not relish the fact that it had been brought to life in him.<p>

Veronica Whitaker was going to be a problem for him, he could already tell.

She was quiet as she gathered her things into a suitcase. Crowley wandered around her house idly, passing time as she prepared herself for her impromptu kidnapping. He'd expected more resistance from her, given her military background. He'd been ready for a pointless fight, rather than resignation, but he wasn't complaining. This was already going several thousand times better than any of his attempts to take Kevin had been.

Still. It was unsettling. He'd expected more... he was almost disappointed.

He examined the pictures sitting on the mantel in her living room. The largest one was of Veronica and a younger man with a mess of ginger hair crammed under a beanie. Brother and sister, judging by their matching facial structure, eye color, and skin tone. He appeared to be five to six years younger than her. Another photo seemed to be a family portrait that was a minimum of eight years outdated, if the change in Veronica's appearance was any indication. The final photo was of her and her unit.

Her unit, all of whom were now dead. He was surprised that she hadn't taken him up on his offer to restore her squad back to life. _Who passes up a deal like that? _he wondered, trailing his finger along the mantel. Dusty. Not surprising, considering she'd just arrived home less than a week ago. _Who holds onto their principals that tightly? She's absolutely mad._

"Where are we going?"

He turned. Veronica stood in her small kitchen, eyeing him warily.

"A compound of mine."

"Yeah, but where?" she repeated exasperatedly. "I need to know what clothes to take."

"Somewhere hot." Nevada, specifically, but he wasn't about to tell her that. He always preferred the heat, and when Cas's little killing spree at his mansion in Kansas had forced him to go shopping for a new mansion, he'd decided it was time to head south.

With a stiff nod, Veronica returned to her room. Crowley frowned. He should be pleased. Incredibly pleased. A prophet under his control, and one who had a direct line to Team Free Will? She had the potential to be the perfect weapon. Yet, here he was, with that bloody _guilt_ sensation building by the second.

He didn't want to tear her away from her life, her home, her career, but it didn't matter what he wanted, he had to focus on what was needed to keep Hell under his control and keep himself and his kingdom safe. A prophet was just what he needed to stay one step ahead of Sam and Castiel.

It was infuriating that he even had to rationalize it to himself why he had to take the prophet; he was a demon! The _King_ of the demons! If he wanted something, he took it. He didn't need a damn reason, that was the prerogative that his species and position afforded him.

Crowley walked over to a shelf on Veronica's wall, distractedly picking up a snow globe and turning it. The label along the base read _Newport_, and showed a small city. He shook it, and fake snow fell on the plastic buildings.

"Having fun?" Crowley turned his head, seeing that Veronica was standing with a suitcase in hand, changed into a blouse and jeans, and looking less than pleased with her current situation. He set the snow globe back on the shelf. He narrowed his eyes at the woman before partially circling her. He noticed a subtle bulge at the small of her back. Subtle to most, but to him, it immediately caught his attention.

He blinked out, reappearing a few inches from the prophet less than half a second later. He tugged up the edge of her sweater and quickly removed the .45 automatic from her waist band. She made to grab for his wrist to halt him, but he backed away and out of her reach.

"Ah-ah-ah," he said, waving the firearm, the barrel pointed at the ceiling. "You won't be needing this."

"It's not like it could hurt you, anyway," Veronica protested.

With the bullets currently loaded in the gun, no, it couldn't do him much harm - but as he had learned from when Abaddon had shot him, guns could indeed be very dangerous, given a little ingenuity.

Crowley held out his free hand, making a 'gimme' gesture. "The knife you have concealed around your ankle, as well." The knife was truly useless, unless she got it in her head to dip it in holy water and salt, but at this point he just wanted to make her aware that hiding anything from him was a fruitless endeavor.

Veronica glared at him, eyes defiant. He glared right back, hand still held out. For a moment, he thought that she would challenge him, but then she let out a heavy sigh and bent down. She tugged up her loose jeans and removed the small knife from the sheath there. She flipped it in her grip and offered him the hilt with an irritated expression on her face.

He took the knife from her, pocketing it. With deft hands, he unloaded and disassembled the .45, then tossed the bullets and pieces of the gun onto her couch. She arched her eyebrow, seeming surprised. "I never imagined you would be so paranoid."

"I'm not paranoid, merely cautious," Crowley said. He held out his hand once more. "Cell phone."

"You're going to take my phone, too?"

"I'm sorry, did you want to text all of your friends and gossip about the gorgeous demon that just swept you off your feet and away to parts unknown?" Crowley asked, not without ample sarcasm. "I'm not letting you keep it - that could arguably be more dangerous than anything sharp and or shoot-y. Hand it over."

Begrudgingly, she dropped her iPhone in his hand. "Happy?"

"Always. Shall we?" He offered her his arm, but she didn't take it.

"I need to leave a note for my brother," she said. "He's going to come looking for me, so unless you want a missing persons report put out, you're going to have to let me write him one."

It wasn't as if the police were much threat to him anyway, but he would prefer to avoid the trouble at all, if possible. He nodded. "Fine, but be quick about it."

Veronica went into her kitchen, pulling a pen and notepad out of her drawer. She bent over her counter, taking a few minutes to write out the note. When she was done, she tore it off of the pad and laid it on her kitchen table alongside the pen. Crowley sidled up beside the prophet, looking over her shoulder at what she'd written.

_Matt,_

_After everything that's happened in the past few months, I need some time away, some time to figure a few things out. I'll be back, I just don't know when. Tell Mom and Dad I love them, and that I'm sorry. I just really need to be alone right now._

_-Ronnie_

Ronnie. He couldn't say he was a fan of the nickname. Veronica suited her better, and he liked the way her full name rolled off of his tongue. He read over the note several times, checking for any kind of hidden message that the prophet might've left in the note, but after analyzing it repeatedly, it truly did appear just to be a harmless explanation for her absence.

"Are you done trying to decrypt it?" Veronica asked dryly.

"Who says I was trying to decrypt anything? I was just admiring your lovely handwriting. Not enough people write in cursive anymore."

"Uh-huh." She seemed thoroughly unconvinced. "Can we get on with this whole kidnapping thing?"

"Not kidnapping, merely-"

"-An aggressive request," she said in a mock attempt at his accent. "Yeah, I got that."

She was a firecracker, this one. He offered his arm to her for the second time. "Whenever you're ready, darling."

She eyed him warily, quickly catching onto the fact that they were going to be teleporting. "I'm not going to end up missing any body parts when we land wherever we're going, right?"

"What, don't trust me?"

"Hell no."

"Quite a mouth on you for a missionary, you know that?" He rolled his eyes. "I solemnly swear that I will keep all of your important bits in their proper places."

She just watched him for a few moments, then sighed heavily. "I'm definitely going to regret this." She grabbed her bag from where she'd dropped it on the ground, then moved to stand next to him. Reluctantly, she linked her arm through his. She pinched her eyes shut, as if expecting something painful to happen.

Crowley thought of his new mansion, and a moment later, they were standing in the long drive. Veronica opened her eyes, seeming surprised that she hadn't been caused any bodily harm.

"See? Not so bad."

"I feel like I just got punched in the stomach, but I guess it could've been worse," she conceded. She released his arm, gazing around the grounds of his expansive compound. "I take it you have a lot of money?"

That was an understatement, if there ever was one. "I'm well enough off." She frowned, seeming bothered by that. He gestured for her to follow him. "Come on, then. I'll give you the grand tour."

They made their way up the drive, side by side. Crowley watched Veronica as they walked, taking in her features, which were more profound in the orange-red light of the Nevada sunset. She had a light spattering of freckles along her nose and cheeks that he hadn't noticed before.

He blinked, surprised at himself. He didn't usually pay this much attention to others - not in this way, anyhow. Analyzing body language could go a very long way indeed, but he didn't tend to just stare at people for the hell of it.

"Oh God." Veronica looked away as they approached the front door, suddenly turning an unhealthy shade of green.

"What, not a fan of the architecture? Personally, I think it's quite - oh."

Finally tuning into his surroundings, Crowley saw that there was a mangled corpse nailed to the leftmost half of his double front doors. He was fairly sure it had been a woman at some point, but now it was just a series of bloody, dripping pieces hanging loosely from a skeleton. Crowley narrowed his eyes at the messy display. There was a demonic taint lingering on the remains, meaning that the body had once been possessed.

He was befuddled for only a moment before the obvious answer occurred to him: his newly demonized bestie had clearly gotten out of hand while he was away.

He ground his teeth together in frustration. This was _not_ a good way to introduce Veronica to his world. If he wanted her full and complete cooperation, he needed her to feel comfortable. Macabre, stinking cadavers did not tend to put most humans at ease.

"I assure you, this is not the usual décor," Crowley told Veronica, who was still turned pointedly away from the door, her hand covering her nose.

Crowley snapped his fingers, and the body was gone, leaving nothing behind but the bloodied knife that had helped suspend the corpse from the door.

"Why was that there?" Veronica asked shakily.

"I haven't the foggiest idea," he admitted. "But I think I know who to ask." Crowley opened the front doors with a flick of his wrist. With Veronica following at his heels, he entered his compound. "Honey, I'm home!"

Crowley received no response. Spreading out his awareness, Crowley sensed the powerful and somewhat malignant presence of the Mark, and therefore Dean, as well.

"DEAN!" he shouted, quickly losing his patience. He wasn't about to be ignored.

"What?" Dean's irritated voice sounded off to his side. Crowley turned to face the other demon. Dean seemed to have just stepped out of the shower, given his damp skin and the fact that he was bare, aside from the towel slung low on his waist. Normally he would've allowed his eyes to linger suggestively for a few moments, but at present, he wasn't in the mood.

"Wreaths, welcome signs, decorative knockers... these are things that we hang on front doors. Notice that dead bodies are not included in that list."

"Like you haven't seen worse."

"It's not my stomach I'm worried about turning!" Crowley snapped, nodding his head pointedly at Veronica. Dean's eyes flicked to her briefly, seeming disinterested.

"Don't complain. I did you a favor."

"Oh? And how's that?"

"You notice how your mooks have been looking at both you _and_ me, lately?" Dean asked, carding his fingers through the wet strands of his hair. "Abaddon's dead, yeah, but you've still got a shit load of demons who don't want you on the throne. Between your little blood binge and bringing me into the fold - I mean, I'm Dean friggin' Winchester, I've killed enough demons to sink a battleship - they've got a lot of doubts about you, and more importantly, _me_." Dean gestured towards the front entrance. "So, I made an example of one of 'em."

Crowley held back a sigh, trying to decide how best to address the situation. Logically speaking, Dean had a point. His subjects weren't nearly as subservient and malleable as they were before Abaddon's coup and Moose's botched half-curing of him. His very presence used to set hearts aflutter. Over the course of the past year, however, he'd lost that terror, and their trust by extension... which put the crown that he'd just barely managed to crawl his way back to in jeopardy.

Still, although Dean's heart, or rather the cold black void that had replaced it, was in the right place... blood, gore, and cheap fear tactics were the trademarks of the old administration. That was how Abaddon had ruled, and he was most definitely _not_ Abaddon.

In his prime, he hadn't needed to draw and quarter people to inspire fear; no, it was his absolute chokehold on Hell that caused terror in those below him. His seeming omniscience - his _control - _that had been enough to keep them in line. They had felt as though he was watching their every move, listening to every thought... and truly, he had been.

If only he had Hell so firmly under his boot, now.

"The old Queen's dead, Squirrel. No more gothic horror, hmm? And while the sentiment is touching, I don't need you to keep my underlings in line for me."

"If you did it yourself, I wouldn't have to," Dean responded with a shrug of one shoulder.

Crowley bristled at that. Who was _Dean Winchester _to judge how he ruled Hell? The man - demon, whatever - who up until a few weeks ago had been a mouth-breathing hunter? "Watch what you say, Dean. Thin ice is a dangerous place to tread." They both heard the low threat hanging in his words.

Dean, thoroughly unimpressed, took a few steps closer to him, anger flashing on his features. "Or what?"

Oh, but he didn't like those two words. No one in any position of authority did. Crowley went to retort, but before he had the opportunity to, Veronica spoke.

"Not that the pissing match isn't entertaining, but can we maybe keep the number of dead bodies to a minimum, at least for my sake?" she asked, shuffling uncomfortably.

Dean finally focused his full attention on Veronica, dragging his eyes away from Crowley. "And just who the hell are you, anyway?"

Cooling down, Crowley answered, "Dean, meet Veronica Whitaker, my newest acquisition. Apparently Castiel flipped a few switches Upstairs, and now we've got a prophet running around again."

"She's a prophet?" Dean looked dubious. "What's the point of her? It's not like there are any God rocks left to translate."

"Think less Kevin, more the late Carver Edlund," Crowley replied, grateful that the tension had been diffused. "She sees things. Useful things."

"Visions?" Dean actually seemed curious now. "Is she seeing me and Sam, like Chuck was?"

Veronica nodded. "I see you and your brother," she said. "I see Castiel, Crowley, and Gadreel, too."

"Gadreel? Why are you seeing that dick?"

Veronica shrugged. "I don't know, I just do. I'm not exactly a font of information, given the fact that up until about an hour ago, I thought I was just having weird dreams. And now I'm here, with the King of Hell and the Knight of Hell." She held up her hands. "At this point, I'm just kind of rolling with the punches."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Crowley. "Gonna use her to spy on Sam and Cas, I'm guessing?"

"Of course. And to get the winning Powerball numbers, naturally."

"Huh." Dean adjusted his towel, seeming to have calmed down significantly, though he was still agitated. Then again, Dean was almost always agitated nowadays. "I don't want angels knocking down our door 'cause we're hiding a prophet in here."

"If any of the feather-brains come knocking, I'm sure you'll deal with them in your typical efficient and mildly off-putting manner."

"True," Dean agreed. "Well, whatever. When you're done with her, I want more lessons. I still can't do telekinesis worth shit."

"I thought you said no more pitching machine?"

"You can teach me without the fucking pitching machine!" Dean said, not seeming to relish the memory of their last training session.

Crowley held up his hands. "Fine, fine."

Without another word, Dean vanished. Veronica seemed somewhere between unsettled and awed. "He's... interesting."

"Would you believe that he used to be the clichéd action hero type? Brooding savior complex most definitely included."

"But the Mark changed him into a demon," Veronica said. Crowley pursed his lips. Yes. Yes it had. And if Dean's behavior today was any indication, more of the hunter may have been lost in translation than Crowley originally thought. He would need to press and test further, try to determine just what he was dealing with when it came to Dean.

Although he was loathe to even think it, if Dean proved to be perhaps more trouble than he was worth... Crowley would have to marginalize him, as it were. He didn't want that. He hadn't spent all of these months building what he had with Dean just to have it all come crashing down.

Really... he just didn't want to lose him.

Along with that, he currently had no idea how to go about killing Dean, even if he wanted to. He didn't know of any weapons short of the First Blade that could dispatch a Knight of Hell. There was surely something out there, but he'd yet to find it.

_You're overthinking things, _he chastised himself. _Dean may be a little feistier now, but he's the same idiotic yet endearing lumberjack he's always been._

His inner pep-talk sounded hollow, even to him.

* * *

><p>The night passed quickly. Castiel unintentionally fell asleep himself at one point, a side effect of his declining condition. When he awoke, it was half past eight in the morning. Sam still snored peacefully in his bed, sedated by Cas's minor sleep spell and the amount of alcohol he'd imbibed the night before.<p>

Sam would sleep for several hours yet. If he was quick and nothing arose for him to deal with, he could fly to Bobby's, investigate the premise, and return before the hunter even had a chance to wake up.

In an effort to be as silent as possible, Cas blinked out of Sam's room, appearing on the other side of his bedroom door.

Cas stumbled somewhat once he was in the hallway, the world spinning around him. He braced himself against the wall, trying to keep down the bile that was building in this throat. Every time he utilized his Grace, his condition worsened significantly. It seemed as though it had completely lost the ability to restore itself. Before long, he would be so weak that he would have no powers left to use. Whether death would come before he reached the point where he was physically a human or not was the only variable.

There was no use in worrying about it anymore. In spite of Gadreel's hopes, he doubted severely that there was anyway on Heaven, Hell, or Earth to save himself, except perhaps taking another angel's Grace, which he of course adamantly refused to do.

He was going to die. The only thing left for him to worry about was accomplishing as much as he possibly could before that time came. Ideally, he would see the Winchesters amicably reunited and Heaven restored before his stolen Grace finally consumed him, but with how steadily his condition was declining and how much still needed to be done on both fronts, that was most likely wishful thinking.

Trying to summon what little strength he had left in him, he transported himself to Sioux Falls. A moment later, he found himself standing in the salvage yard next to the burnt remnants of Bobby's home. Cas felt a pang of sorrow and regret as his eyes took in the destroyed house that had once been the closest thing to a home that the Winchesters had, before they found the bunker. Leviathans had done this, and Leviathans had subsequently killed Bobby. Both losses were due to his own foolishness. He wished he could apologize to the old hunter for the consequences his mistake had caused, but it was far too late for that.

He made his way into the ruins of Bobby's house. Weeds had begun to sprout through the remaining charred floorboards, overwhelming what little was left of the foundation. He opened the door that led down to the basement. Upon pushing it open, it collapsed off of its hinges, blocking part of the staircase. With a flick of his wrist, Cas attempted to blow the door out of the way.

Nothing happened.

Jaw tight, he maneuvered around the door and made his way down the stairs. Each step seemed ready to crumble under his foot. He reached the basement and made his way to the panic room. Bobby had several vaults in his home, but he knew that the one that held the rarest, most dangerous items was in the panic room. Cas pushed the iron door aside, and stepped into the mostly intact panic room.

Cas was dismayed when he found that the vault was already hanging open, and starkly empty. If the vault had already been looted, that meant that War, Famine, and Pestilence's rings were in the possession of the Leviathan, almost all of whom were already wiped out. Finding them would be incredibly difficult.

With a frown and a flap of his wings, Cas departed the ruins of Bobby's house.

He had work to do.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you to ofmooseandmen, twolittlewords, and SPN Mum for their reviews on the last chapter!_


	10. Waking Up and Settling In

**Chapter 10 – Waking Up and Settling In**

_"This is the beginning  
>I got my mark, see it in my eyes<br>This is the beginning  
>Well, my reflection I don't recognize."<em>

* * *

><p>Sam woke up with a pounding headache the next day. His mouth was dry, and his tongue felt thick enough to choke him. Even the faint light from his bedside lamp seemed like a blinding fluorescent spear stabbing into his skull.<p>

Memories of the night before surfaced. _Fuck._

Something had snapped inside of him when Cas had departed the day before. Truthfully, the angel's presence was one of the few things that was keeping him even remotely sane. His brother was a damn _demon_, and if he had to somehow handle that load completely alone, he was likely to either drink himself to death either by accident, or on purpose.

It was pathetic, but right now, he needed Cas. Really, relying on an angel that was probably going to die sooner rather than later was a bad idea, but Cas was like family to him, even though they'd had their ups and downs over the years. Regardless of what happened in the past, Cas was here and on his side now, and that was what mattered.

Sam sat up slowly, running a hand through his long hair and letting out a heavy, ragged sigh. He glanced up once he was brave enough to crack open his eyes. There was a note on the inside of the door that read 'kitchen' in blocky letters, presumably left by Cas.

That meant the angel was still in the bunker, which Sam found surprising. Cas sticking around for any length of time was atypical. Then again, from what little Sam remembered of the night before, he'd had a pretty horrendous breakdown in front of the angel. Cas probably felt like it was his duty to look after him, now.

Naturally. Cas was dying, and his first concern was Sam. The angel really had picked up a thing or two from Dean over the years, hadn't he?

Sam rose from his bed, his limbs stiff and aching. He checked the clock. It was past noon. He never slept that long. He was relatively sure that Cas had put some kind of sleep spell on him the night before, as he hadn't slept twelve hours at a time since his brush with the demon trials the year before.

He made his way out of his room, the bunker floor cold underneath his bare feet. He made his way to the kitchen. Cas was at the counter, a stack of bread slices to one side of him and jars of peanut butter and jelly to the other. He looked up when he saw Sam enter, a knife covered in jelly held in his right hand. The angel seemed almost relieved to see him.

"Sam, you're awake."

"Yeah." Sam shuffled awkwardly, unsure of what to say to Cas. "Uh… thanks, Cas. For staying, I mean."

"There's no need to thank me, Sam. You were right. We need to stick together in wake of what has happened. I apologize for not seeing that earlier."

"No, I – I get it. The whole world doesn't revolve around me, or Dean."

"Actually, the world does tend to revolve around you and your brother," Cas replied with what might have been a flicker of a smile. "We need to get Dean back. It's a priority. There is no telling what kind of damage Crowley would be able to do, with a demon as powerful as Dean is likely to be at his side."

The idea of Crowley using Dean as his own personal hellhound made Sam sick down to his core. His hands clenched into fists at his side, blunt nails digging into the meat of his palms.

"I want that bastard dead," Sam said. "God, do I want him dead."

Cas's expression became grave as he turned to face Sam. "Crowley deserves far worse than that."

Sam nodded, seating himself at the table. "But for Crowley, there's nothing worse than that. He's all about self-preservation."

"That's true."

"Except…" Sam's brow furrowed. "No. There is something worse than death, for him."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Being cured," Sam said, pursing his lips. "Then he'd actually feel guilty about everything he'd done. All the lives he's ruined."

"When we find Crowley and Dean, perhaps we should do that," Cas said, and Sam noticed that he said 'when' rather than 'if'. He wished he was as optimistic as the angel. "It would be fair retribution, given the fact that Crowley essentially forced a species change on Dean."

Nothing was really fair anymore, so he would take what he could get. He couldn't help but wonder, in the back of his mind, if Crowley would even be able to survive becoming human; if how Crowley had acted during his last curing was any indication, the weight of his existence as a demon could feasibly crush him. Would Crowley take his own life, if he was turned into a human?

Sam didn't want to analyze the part of himself that would be darkly satisfied by that outcome.

"Yeah, well, we have to track him down before we can do anything," Sam said at length.

"Yes," Cas nodded. "Unfortunately, another issue has arisen."

"Is this about yesterday? Why you and Gadreel left?"

Another nod from the angel. "There is trouble in Heaven."

Sam sighed. "Of course there is." He ran a hand over his face, preparing himself for bad news. "How bad?"

"…very."

"Well, don't beat around the bush, Cas."

"It appears that… if things continue as they are, we may see another Civil War in Heaven."

Of course. Heaven had been settled for, what, over a week and a half now? That had to be some kind of record. Sam had known that it was only a matter of time before the Heavenly Host was thrown into turmoil again. He sincerely doubted that the angels would ever be able to actually come back together without extreme bloodshed. They'd been absent a leader for a long time, and creatures like angels, the only thing that kept them from tearing each other's throats out were strong leaders.

Michael was in the Cage. Raphael and Gabriel were dead. God was MIA. The angels were doomed to this constant state of faction war, it seemed.

"Has the fighting started yet?" Sam asked tiredly.

Cas finished making the sandwich and set it down on a plate in front of Sam. "Not yet. Things are peaceful, for the time being, but it is unlikely that they will remain that way. I have left Gadreel in Heaven to keep watch in my absence… as I'm more needed here." He pushed the plate towards Sam. "You should eat something. This will help settle your stomach."

Sam didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. Cas's home and species were on the verge of war once again, and he was here, on Earth, with him, making him fucking PB&J.

Sam picked up one of the sandwiches and took a bite. If there was one human thing Cas could do properly, it was make sandwiches. When Sam swallowed, he looked back up at Cas. "Are you sure leaving Gadreel there is a good idea? Isn't he kind of one of the most hated angels in the history of the universe?"

"I believe that word of his change will spread quickly. Hannah witnessed how far he was willing to go for our kind firsthand, and she will vouch for him."

Sam nodded, though he still wasn't sure it was a wise idea. Gadreel was too easily swayed; look at how quickly he'd switched from their side to Metatron's. Heaven, however, was Cas's domain, and as long as the conflict didn't bleed into the human world, he would leave it to the angel's discretion.

"What are they fighting about this time?" Sam asked as he worked on downing his odd and late breakfast in spite of the unpleasant acrobatics his stomach was doing.

Cas didn't answer at first, seating himself across the table from Sam. The angel looked just as haggard as he had the day before, if not worse. Cas's chest heaved with each breath he took, and his eyes were bright and feverish. When he moved his hands, they shook.

Another problem on their plate… fixing Cas. If only he had some kind of clue of where to start looking for a remedy to his friend's failing Grace.

"An angel named Asmodel wants to restart Armageddon," Cas informed him in a monotone. "Many of the angels have sided with him."

"What!?" Sam nearly choked on his food. "They want to let Michael and Lucifer out of the Cage?"

"It appears so."

"Why?"

"The angels, they're scared… they're lost. We've been clinging to false hopes and different self-proclaimed leaders for a very long time in an attempt to find some kind of guidance. Asmodel… he believes that the world will right itself if we carry out the original plan for the apocalypse."

"If Lucifer and Michael get out of the Cage, there isn't going to be any world to right," Sam replied, horrified.

"That is my opinion as well," Cas responded. "Many of the angels have sided with me, but Asmodel's ranks still outnumber mine. I have currently ordered all those loyal to me not to engage Asmodel's forces in any way, shape, or form, but if they choose to attack us first… I don't know what will happen."

"Another war will break out," Sam said lowly. "And if Asmodel's side wins-"

"They currently have no way to open the Cage and raise Lucifer and Michael," Cas cut across him. "That, at the least, is in our favor."

Understanding dawned on Sam. "Last night... that's why you asked me about the Horseman rings, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Well? Did you find them?"

Cas looked dejected. "They were not in Bobby's vault. It would appear that someone was there before me and took them."

"You don't think-"

"I don't believe that Asmodel or one of his angels took them," Cas assured him. "But… perhaps the Leviathan took them when they burned down Bobby's home?"

Sam's brow furrowed. "They might have," he admitted, but he didn't see why Leviathans would have any interest in opening up the Cage. Maybe they just wanted them as a bargaining piece? But the rings as a whole were completely useless without Death's ring to complete the quartet, weren't they? And Death was still firmly in possession of his own ring...

"Do you have any idea where the Leviathan might have taken the rings?" Cas inquired. Sam finished his first sandwich with a sigh.

"Dick might have wanted them for one reason or another. I don't know what happened to his stuff after you and Dean took him out, though." Sam pursed his lips. "We should look into his estate, see who inherited all of his things postmortem. Maybe we can dig up a lead."

Cas nodded. "It's as good a place as any to start. Can you handle this by yourself?"

"Finding where the rings are at?" Sam shrugged. "I don't see why not. Are you going to go back to Heaven?"

He wanted to be angry, but between the pounding headache and bone-deep emotional and physical exhaustion, he couldn't find it within him to be mad at the angel.

"No," Cas said, pushing himself out of his seat with a somewhat pained expression. "I'm going to go look for your brother."

* * *

><p>"Here we are," Crowley said, opening up the door for Veronica and guiding her into her new living quarters.<p>

The room he'd picked for her was expansive, with its own bathroom attached off to the side. None of the bedrooms in the mansion were really used, apart from his own – but Crowley's room was used for just about anything other than sleeping – so he gave her the second biggest bedroom in the large manor.

A large, plush king bed was in the center of the room, flanked on either side by wall length windows. There was a writing desk in the corner, several bookshelves stuffed thick with tomes that he didn't have room for in his own personal library, and there was a sitting area furnished with two leather couches and a large television that had been here when he'd relieved the former owners of their property.

"Home sweet home," he chimed, closing the door behind them. Veronica examined her surroundings, seemingly genuinely surprised as she set her bag down by the bed.

"Um…"

"Expecting a dungeon? Iron restraints and garroting chair included?"

"Kind of."

"Please. I've much more class than that," he told her with a faint smirk. "This could be a very beneficial relationship, Veronica-"

"Ronnie," she corrected, but he continued as if he hadn't heard her.

"-if you're willing to cooperate with me, you'll be allowed to live in the lap of luxury, completely free of chains and whips. Unless that's your thing, of course," Crowley added with a wide smile that was fully intended to be disconcerting. Veronica merely rolled her eyes at him.

"What exactly is it you expect me to do?"

"Simple, love. You have a vision… you write it down." Crowley mimed writing. "And then you give it to me." He gestured at himself, then spread out his hands. "Simple. Easy. Painless, so long as you don't try to hide anything from me."

She swallowed. "Okay, but what do I do when I'm not, you know, being a prophet of the Lord?"

"That's up to you. It's not as if you could escape, even if you wanted to, so you'll have free reign over the property. Try anything funny, and my bruisers will put a stop to it, but as long as you're a respectful guest, I will, of course, be the respectful host in return."

"You're disturbingly polite for a demon," Veronica told him. "I'm kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop and you to start doing something-"

"-evil?" Crowley finished for her. "Well, as I always say… evil is really just 'live' spelled backwards."

"You should get that crocheted on a pillow."

He snorted. Cheeky, this one. Crowley brushed by the prophet and sank down on one of the  
>couches, crossing his legs.<p>

"Now," he said. "I think you ought to give me a summary of everything you've seen so far, since you got the prophetic zap from the original absent father figure."

Veronica gave him an irritated look at his choice of words, but then nodded. She sat on the opposite side of the couch. It was interesting how wary she was of him. Also something that would work to his benefit; if she was terrified of him and what he might do if pushed, she was significantly less likely to step out of line.

Still, she was being far too agreeable about this… Crowley didn't buy the compliant and docile act, not for a second. Veronica was going to try to resist him at some point, and he had to be prepared for that eventuality. He had to be prepared for anything, really. He wasn't going to let another prophet of the Lord slip through his fingers, especially one that the Winchesters didn't know about yet.

"The first thing I saw was Castiel, Sam, and Gadreel… they were talking about you. About finding you. Cas and Gadreel were searching for you." She frowned. "Cas seemed really sick. Gadreel told him to rest, but he didn't want to."

"So, Gadreel's working with the two of them? Thick as thieves?"

"Yeah. Well, he was working with them. He's up in Heaven now."

"He is?"

"They've kind of got a big problem up there at the moment."

"Don't they always?"

"There's this angel, Asmodel… he wants to start the apocalypse."

Crowley narrowed his eyes at Veronica, clasping his hands over his knee. "And how does he intend to do that?" He couldn't say he was terribly surprised by what she'd just told him; the stupidity of the Heavenly Host had long since become expected, and nothing they did could really shock him anymore.

Pfft. And they say Heaven is above Hell. Hardly.

"By opening up 'the Cage', whatever that is."

Not on his watch, they weren't. The Cage was in Hell, and Hell was his… he'd bloody well like to see an angel try to crack through and get all the way to the Fourth Round of the Ninth Circle before either he or Dean tore them into tiny pieces.

"I see," he said, filing away the information for later consideration. "What else?"

"Sam talked to Cain before Dean killed him," Veronica shared. "He was trying to find out what might have happened to Dean. That's when he found out that he was a demon, and that there was no way to turn him human again."

"Did he now…" Crowley pinned his tongue between his teeth, watching the prophet, who had gone silent. "Is that all Cain told him?"

"Yes," she said, a little too quickly.

"I'm going to give you a bit of advice, darling," Crowley said, keeping his tone perfectly pleasant. "Don't try to scam a scam artist. I can see straight through you… I didn't ask for the cliff notes, I want the extended version with director's commentary. Now..." His eyes drilled into Veronica. "What else did Cain say?"

Veronica glared at him. "I'm not lying. Has it occurred to you that I'm a little nervous, being alone, thousands of miles away from my home and my family, sitting on a couch with the KING OF HELL?" She crossed her arms defiantly. "Sam talked to Cain, Cain told him Dean was a demon, now Cas and Sam are looking for you and looking for a way to stop the end of the world. They're looking for something called the Horseman Rings. That's all I've seen that isn't directly related to you and Dean, all of which you already know. If that's not enough for you, then bring me the hell back home and leave me alone."

Crowley blinked, almost surprised at the prophet's outburst. "My, my. You've got some fire in you after all. Good. Meek doesn't suit you."

She blushed at his sort-of compliment, but he was fairly sure it was just because she was angry.

"Are we done here?" she asked. "That's all I've seen; when I have more visions, I'll tell you. Until then, I'm useless to you."

"Hmm… not useless, no. Never useless." He rose from the couch, straightening the lapels of his suit coat. "If you need anything, just call out for me. If I'm in the building, I'll hear you. If not, Dean or one of my lackeys can help you."

Veronica didn't look thrilled at the idea of Dean paying her a visit. He couldn't say that he blamed her for that.

"Fine," she answered stiffly.

Crowley went for the door. He still had a feeling that the prophet wasn't being wholly truthful with him about Cain and Sam's meeting, but he wasn't going to push it… for now. This was going to be a long process, getting Veronica to trust him enough that she wasn't motivated to hide information from him. He could win anyone over given enough time, and with things in Hell settling down and things in Heaven heating up, meaning that the angels were bound to be distracted, which gave him ample time to charm the prophet into submission.

Really, she was just another deal to close.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you to TheOneandOnlyGoddessofAwesome, ofmooseandmen, SPN Mum, and twolittlewords for their reviews on the last chapter!_

_My apologies for the ridiculous lateness of this chapter. I seem to be back in the groove now, so I should be able to update fairly regularly once the hiatus starts._


	11. Strange Angels

**Chapter 11 – Strange Angels**

_"For most who live and breathe  
>Hell is never knowing who they are now, tell me who you are now<br>Finally safe from the outside, trapped in what you know  
>Are you safe from yourself? Can you escape all by yourself?"<em>

* * *

><p>"You're telling me there's an angel of the Lord outside, and he wants to speak with <em>me<em>?"

"Yes, sir," Kayce said, nodding fervently.

"You do know that 'speak with' and 'smite' are different verbs, yes?" Crowley asked, leaning forward. "Is it Castiel? Gadreel?"

"No, the angel calls himself Asmodel," Kayce supplied. "I have never seen him before."

"Angel of Patience, eh?" Crowley played absent-mindedly with his bottom lip, recalling that Veronica had informed him that Asmodel was the angel starting up trouble in Heaven. "Did he say anything else?"

"Just that he has a business proposal for you. He was very vague," Kayce explained, seeming curious. "What should I tell him?"

Crowley thought for a moment. Letting an angel into his inner sanctum, as it were, didn't sound like a terribly good idea. They would have to void the angel warding on the manor, leaving the compound open for attack by other angels.

But, then again... he had his Knight. Dean was nigh on invincible, not able to be killed by any angel. With the Mark and the Blade, one angel wouldn't stand a chance against Dean. Hell, ten angels wouldn't be able to keep him down. It seemed from what Veronica had told him, his own agenda and Asmodel's couldn't possibly work in tandem... but still, it wouldn't hurt to hear him out.

And if he didn't like what he heard, then he could have him removed, quickly and cleanly. Actually, with Dean it was more likely to be slow, bloody, and painful, but nonetheless... it was an avenue worth investigating.

"Tell Forfax to deal with the warding, have Laharl and Hensley escort him to my office." Both of his minions were armed with angel blades, and while he didn't expect them to be able to defend themselves against an angel, if they were armed to the teeth, they would at least make adequate cannon fodder to buy him some time to deal with the situation.

"Yes, sir." Kayce turned to leave, but Crowley's voice halted him.

"And tell Dean to get his admittedly well-formed ass up here ASAP," Crowley told him. He definitely wanted Dean at his side for this meeting, regardless of his current doubt of the new demons' mental and temperamental stability.

With another reverent bow of his head, Kayce disappeared, leaving Crowley alone to prepare for his unexpected guest. He reached into his desk, removing his angel gun from where it rested inside. He checked the bullets, and all eight were loaded into the Luger. He also drew his angel blade, setting the weapon on his desk.

If this angel stood against him, he wasn't getting out of here alive. Crowley looked up when he sensed a malignant presence enter his office.

"Hello, darling," he greeted, knowing it was Dean.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, wasting no time.

"Surprise visitor," Crowley said, turning around. Dean stood behind the chair that was sat in front of Crowley's desk, arms crossed, watching him with cold green eyes. Crowley found himself missing their former warmth more and more, tragically melodramatic as that was.

"Visitor?" Dean echoed.

"Angel named Asmodel wants a jaw with me... and you, by extension."

"He one of Castiel's bitches?" Dean asked. Crowley couldn't help but notice that whenever Dean referred to Cas now, it was always his full name, not the nickname that he had coined for him years before.

"I imagine if he was, we would have your half-dead angelic boy-toy breaking down our door," Crowley replied.

Dean eyed Crowley's angel gun. "You sure letting him in here is a good idea?"

"I have you," Crowley said with a faint smirk. "What have I got to worry about?"

"True," Dean conceded, twirling the First Blade. "If he steps out of line-"

"I give you the signal, and you cut him down," Crowley finished.

He saw a flicker of a twisted smile grace Dean's chapped lips. "Aye-aye."

There was a knock on the door. Dean stepped to the side, and Crowley flicked his wrist as he rounded his desk. The door swung open, revealing Laharl and Hensley, who were each gripping an arm of a tall, slender man with large green eyes and neatly brushed brown hair.

"Asmodel, I presume?" Crowley narrowed his eyes. He could see the angel's halo and the shadow of large wings on the higher planes.

"Yes," the angel said stiffly. "I did not come here to fight you, demon. Have your minions release me immediately."

"You didn't say the magic word," Crowley chimed.

Asmodel merely glared at him. _Bloody angels. No sense of humor. Or manners, for that matter._

"Fine. Let him go, boys," Crowley ordered. Laharl and Hensley backed away from Asmodel dutifully. His henchmen left his office, leaving Crowley and his Knight alone with the angel.

"I'll make this brief," Asmodel said, wasting no time. "I believe we could be useful to one another."

"And what could you possibly do for me?" Crowley asked, steepling his fingers and considering the angel.

"It goes without saying that the past few years have been difficult for both Heaven and Hell," the angel began.

"Au contraire," Crowley interrupted. "I've had a great decade so far. I am the King, after all."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you spend the majority of the past year either imprisoned or in exile?"

"It was merely a sabbatical," Crowley said tightly, with a wry smile. "I wasn't aware that the Host was making a habit of sticking their noses into infernal politics."

"A sabbatical, hmm?" The angel looked at him with pure condescension. "Is that a euphemism for usurpation?"

Crowley felt a low current of anger at the reminder of Abaddon's coup, but he kept his expression schooled, remaining cool and professional. "You said something about making this brief?"

"I want to release Michael and Lucifer from their Cage so that they may battle and decide the fate of the universe. It is time we restart Armageddon and restore balance to the physical realms," Asmodel informed him.

Crowley looked at Asmodel for a long moment.

And then he laughed. Loudly.

"Let me see if I'm following you, here..." Crowley said once his laughter had died down and Asmodel's expression had turned to one of confusion. "You want _me_ to help _you_ let the one being that could take my throne out from under me off of his leash, so he can destroy everything I've worked so hard to achieve?"

"He created your kind," Asmodel argued.

Oh, as if that argument hadn't been used on him before. It was remarkable just how thick the angel was... obviously, Asmodel hadn't been privy to who exactly had helped put the final nail in Lucifer's coffin during the first round of the apocalypse. Crowley wasn't sure just how aware Heaven was of his role in stopping Armageddon, but if Asmodel approaching him with this asinine deal was any indication, they obviously were more ignorant than he originally thought.

_"And?"_ Crowley rose from his seat. "Hell belongs to me. There's no way I'm letting Heaven's Least Wanted out. I don't care if the Heavenly Host wants their _Paradise_, my Paradise is right here, and I'm not giving it up for anything."

"Listen to me-"

"Sorry darling, but your five minutes are up," Crowley broke in. "Dean?"

That was the only prompting that the once-human needed. "On it."

Dean kicked the chair that Asmodel had elected not to sit in out of the way and grabbed the angel by the collar. He slammed him face-first into Crowley's desk. Once. Twice. Three times.

"You really shouldn't have come here," Crowley advised him as Dean flipped Asmodel onto his back and began pummeling him, sans Blade. Apparently Dean wanted to entertain himself for a little bit before utterly eviscerating the angel.

Crowley watched the violent display with a kind of detached interest. The tree topper must've been particularly desperate, if he'd stooped so low as to consult with the King of Hell. Good. That meant he was afraid of Castiel and needed a trump card. Crowley may have not be on good terms with Castiel, but he was rooting for him in the current celestial conflict, even if the angel of Thursday did want to mount his head on the wall for turning his dearly beloved into a demon.

Asmodel blasted Dean away from him, and unfortunately, the hunter-turned-demon hadn't refined his psychokinetic abilities enough to shield himself from the attack. Dean collided hard with the wall, sliding down with a groan. Crowley rolled his eyes. As if that little love tap was going to stop Dean.

Asmodel's angel blade dropped out of his sleeve. The angel's face was a mess of bleeding injuries. "Disgusting that the Righteous Man has been turned into a creature such as you," he said sharply, encroaching on Dean. "You think a twisted warrior of Hell can kill me? I will slay you like the beast you are."

Dean pushed himself back to his feet, ripping the First Blade out of the sheath on his side. He grinned. "Bring it on, cowboy."

The angel and demon launched themselves at each other, falling into a tangle of limbs on the ground. Dean managed to get himself on top of Asmodel, and he took the hilt of the Blade – if you could call the section of the jawbone you were intended to hold a hilt – and slammed it into the angel's nose, shattering it.

The angel's hand lunged for Dean's forehead, and he grasped it tightly, nails digging in. Asmodel's eyes glowed a burning hot white, but Dean was thoroughly unaffected by what Crowley determined to be an attempted smiting. Dean's grin widened, and he laughed at the bleeding angel underneath him.

"Sorry... looks like I'm above your pay grade."

Dean lifted the Blade, ready to separate Asmodel's head from his shoulders, but before he could, the angel disappeared. Dean collided with the ground, letting out a muffled _oomph_.

Dean got back to his feet, jaw twitching with restrained anger. "Bastard. We should've trapped him."

Crowley waved him off. "Let him run. Castiel will take care of him all in good time. It's not as if Asmodel's actually going to be able to restart the apocalypse." Crowley removed his phone from his pocket, sending a quick text to Forfax to let him know that he could redo the Enochian warding, now that their angelic guest was gone.

Dean was silent for a long moment. "So you don't have any interest in his whole Apocalypse Now plan?"

Crowley threw Dean a sharp look. "You having a laugh, Squirrel?"

"It's not the worst idea in the world."

"I certainly can't think of one that's worse. Then again, terrible ideas are generally your department."

Dean glared at him. "I'm just saying… maybe letting Lucifer out of his Cage, it isn't such a bad thing."

Crowley stared at Dean as if he'd grown a second head. Actually, he'd seen people actually sprout a second head, and he had been significantly less disturbed then than he was at present.

"I'm sorry, I must have misheard you. I could've sworn you just said that letting _Satan_ out of his stock 'isn't such a bad thing'." Dean merely glared at Crowley in response. "You do remember the year we spent trying to throw him back in the Cage, yeah? And your brother's ever-so-noble sacrifice?"

Dean seemed to shut down for a moment, as he always did at the mention of Sam or Castiel. "Yeah, well," Dean eventually said."Things were different, then."

"Does the world deserve to be destroyed more now than it did in 2010? Because that's what we're talking about here – _destroying the world_."

"And so what if it gets destroyed? Is it really all that great the way it is now?" Dean took a step toward him. "Seriously, don't you want a little chaos? We're fucking demons! A few seas of blood gotta be good for the non-existent soul, right?" Dean shrugged, but the nonchalance of his gesture was lost somewhat, given the fact that Asmodel's blood was splattered on his shirt.

"It's ARMAGEDDON, you imbecile! Not a day at the races!"

"Watch it, Crowley," Dean warned, eyes flashing black briefly. After a moment, Dean relaxed again. "Come on, haven't you ever wondered what the world would be like if we just let Judgment Day happen? What if Lucifer won, huh? That means Hell on Earth. That means we – the demons – we rule _everything_."

"No, that means that Lucifer brings Hell down on Earth, extinguishes the human race, and then – oh look! – time for a mass genocide! I told you all of this, that night we first met. We are _nothing_ to Lucifer. To him, we're worse than humans. We're nothing but monsters-"

"We _are_ nothing but monsters," Dean cut across him sharply. "And it's about time we start acting like it. Hell ain't supposed to be neat and tidy, it's Hell! It's messy and bloody and violent, and you're the King of all of it, but you keep it as this bureaucratic nightmare instead of doing what a demon's supposed to do – rain Hell down on everyone and everything. So what if Lucifer tries to kill us? Between the two of us, we could take him. With him out of the way, you'd be the King of more than just Hell. You'd have everything."

"In case it's escaped your notice, Lucifer is an archangel. The First Blade won't put a dent in one of those pumped up feather dusters."

"It could've killed Metatron. I could see it in his eyes when I was fighting him. He was scared for his life."

"Metatron was a pencil pusher."

"No, not after he shut down Heaven. He was almost invincible when he was sucking power from the angel tablet."

"You don't have any proof it would work-"

"If the Blade can take down a Knight of Hell, why not an archangel, too? A weapon made by the devil's gotta be able to kill the devil, right?"

"That's the kind of logic that will get the both of us turned into burn marks on the carpet," Crowley snapped. "This conversation is over – I'm not going to give up everything I've spent the past three centuries working for just to, what? Turn Hell and Earth into a warzone? Because it would be _fun_? The way I run Hell, it WORKS. It's efficient… it's clean… it is a well oiled machine. I'm not going to give that up."

"If it works so well, how come every demon worth their salt went over to Abaddon as soon as they got the chance?" Dean challenged, watching him unflinchingly.

Crowley rose from his chair. "You're testing my non-patience, Squirrel."

"And what are you going to do about it?" Dean asked, a low threat in his voice. Crowley stood his ground, but he was unsure of how to respond to the obvious challenge. Because really… what could he do?

"You may have the First Blade and the Mark, but I would recommend that you don't overestimate yourself, or more importantly, underestimate me. I've been a demon since you were an itch in your ten times great grandfather's trousers… and I will take you down a notch if you don't learn to show me some respect."

Dean's grip on the Blade tightened, and there was a glint of anger in his eyes. "Respect you?" he repeated. "And why the hell would I do that?"

"Keep in mind that I'm the only reason you're still alive. It's thanks to me that you have the Mark and the Blade. I. Made. You. Don't think for a second that I can't break you," Crowley hissed out.

Dean's expression became one of candid rage. He opened his mouth to snarl out a response, but a knock came at the door of Crowley's office, catching his attention.

"Enter," Crowley called, trying to even out his temper. A moment later, Kayce came in, carrying a letter with him.

"Sir," he began. "You have a message from Bartimaeus." Kayce held up the envelope, and it did indeed hold Bartimaeus's personal seal.

"Why can't he just learn to send emails?" Crowley asked, annoyed, but also intrigued. Bartimaeus had taken over as King of the Crossroads after Crowley had ascended to his position as King of all Hell. For a time, Bartimaeus had been his closest ally, his right hand man, and his staunchest supporter.

Until Abbadon took over. After that, Bartimaeus had seemingly vanished from the face of the Earth. He'd assumed that Bartimaeus had been killed in the takeover… but apparently not.

"Leave us," Crowley ordered Kayce as he brought the letter to his desk. He pulled out a letter opener and slit open the envelope.

"Us, my liege?"

Crowley glanced up at his subordinate. "Yes, us-" Crowley broke off when he flicked his eyes to the side and saw that Dean was nowhere to be seen. "Bollocks."

"Is everything alright?"

"Fine, fine," Crowley muttered. "Just – get out of here." He slipped out the missive that Bartimaeus had sent to him. Kayce nodded, and then exited the room. As Crowley's door drifted shut, he unfolded the note and began to read.

_My King,_

_I heard that you are back on the throne. I was beginning to worry that no one would be able to take the crown back from Abaddon. Now that Hell is in relatively safe hands, I'll hopefully be able to come out of hiding. However, from what I understand, Hell is still unstable in wake of the… 'elections' this past year. Knowing what an asset I am to you, the remaining Abaddon loyalists have been hunting me relentlessly. _

_I would like for us to meet to discuss affairs in Hell and on Earth, but I would prefer it to be somewhere other than your compound. We both know how demons gossip. I want to serve you again, my King, but you know that my personal safety has been, and always will be, my first priority._

_My courier will return in twenty four hours. Give your response to him. I know you prefer using cell phones and email, but I would rather our correspondence remain off of hackable networks. I hope that you will agree to meet me – together, we can restore Hell to its former glory._

_-Bartimaeus _

"Well, isn't this a lovely surprise," Crowley said under his breath.

He was surprised and even pleased that Bartimaeus was still alive, but he also was less than satisfied with the Crossroads demon's decision to go into hiding during his usurpation, instead of helping him back onto the throne. He'd been almost entirely on his own, betrayed at every turn, left with only the bloody Winchesters as allies, all while Bartimaeus was safely on the down low.

Crowley sighed, grabbing a sheet of his own personal letterhead to formulate a response. He fully planned to take Bartimaeus to task for his cowardice, but he also wanted to reestablish ties with the other demon. After all, he was the only who had ever run the Crossroads with any kind of efficiency – omitting himself, quite obviously.

Crowley uncapped a pen and began to write.

_Bartimaeus,_

_So glad to hear you're alive and well. And here I was, thinking that you'd been eviscerated ages ago. We certainly have a lot to discuss. If you want to meet somewhere out of the way and clear of preening eyes, there's an abandoned saw mill fifteen miles due south of my mansion. Meet me there in two week's time at noon, and we'll see if we can't get this all sorted out. That is, if you're willing to risk yourself and come out of your hidey hole for a fag and a chat._

_xxCrowley_

Short, not so sweet, and to the point. He slipped the note inside of an envelope and sealed it, then set it off to the side for when the courier arrived the following day. Hopefully, his meeting with Bartimaeus would go off well, and he could further secure his hold on Hell.

At the moment, however, Crowley had bigger worries. Namely: Dean Winchester.

Dean had been slowly starting to concern him more and more by the day. Just what exactly had gotten knocked loose in the new demon's head that he thought a repeat of the apocalypse was a good plan?

Why the hell would Dean want to raise Lucifer? Just… just _because!?_ You didn't bring the Prince of Darkness back from his eternal condemnation to maximum security Hell on a damn whim!

Newborn demons were often… unstable. Incredibly so. But Crowley had thought that due to the fact that Dean had skipped the traditional route of damnation, he'd have a more solid control of his faculties. He had thought that most of Dean would survive the change.

Perhaps he had been wrong.

More dangerous than even the new demon's apocalyptic leanings was Dean's constant challenging of his authority. That was not something that he could allow to continue. Knight of Hell or not, Crowley was still the King, and he would not allow one of his subjects to question him like this.

_Subject… he used to be your friend._

Yes, well, his 'friend' had seemed rather intent on beating him to a bloody pulp only several moments ago. If not for a few well-timed interruptions, Crowley was half-sure that he and Dean would have already to come to blows, or worse.

He had the attack dog he'd wanted for so long, but he wasn't turning out to be half as well-trained as Crowley had originally hoped. Dean was supposed to be more than just the human equivalent of a hellhound. Dean was supposed to be his companion, his right hand man… his Knight.

This was wrong. All wrong. Writing it off as his own paranoia could only go so far. When the capital 'L' word was dropped, it was time to start taking preventative measures. The world was in a state of unrest, both in Hell and Heaven. His position was not yet completely stable… and he had to protect his crown at any cost.

So, a test was in order. A test to discover exactly how far gone Dean was.

Crowley took his cell phone out of his pocket and considered the screen, his tongue pinned contemplatively between his teeth. After a second's deliberation, he dialed his contact at the NSA listening post, the one who had replaced Cecily. The phone barely had a chance to ring before the call was answered.

"My King," the demon on the other end greeted.

"I need you to find me the nearest group of hunters as fast as you can."

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><p><em>AN: Thank you to SPN Mum, twolittlewords, and ofmooseandmen for their reviews on the last chapter!_


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